


The Art of Ordering Tones; Canon, Cadence, Cadenza.

by HumsHappily



Series: Sequence Portamento [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music Store, Bullying, Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mention of Aids crisis, Minor Character Death, Music, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Unilock, Virgin Mycroft, mystrade, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-12 15:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 36,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7939666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumsHappily/pseuds/HumsHappily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Greg gets kicked out of his house, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. A chance encounter leads him to a music store and a place to sleep. Things are looking up, and then Greg runs into a lanky redhead with a block of ice on his shoulder and falls. Hard. Not that he was ever one to back down from a challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Caution. There are brief references to and incidents of homophobia, especially from a family figure. Please stop reading if this may trigger you in any way. There are also mentions of the AIDs crisis in context, descriptions of bullying, and off screen death of a minor character. 
> 
> The author would also like to point out that these topics are not meant to be romanticized in anyway, rather that they are used to show how characters may react in such cases.
> 
> If you or a loved one has been exposed to HIV/AIDS and would like support, please contact the national helpline.
> 
> US: National AIDS Hotline | 800-232-4636  
> UK:Positively UK | 020 7713 0444
> 
>  
> 
> If you or a loved one suffers from bullying, and would like support, please contact the national helpline.
> 
> US:Crisis Call Center | 800-273-8255 OR text ANSWER to 839863  
> UK: Bullying UK (UK only) | 0808-800-2222
> 
>  
> 
> Also, please note that both Mycroft and Greg are both of age of consent and are turning eighteen, therefore there is no underage warning on this fic, though they would not have been legally able to consent in this time period in the UK, due to biased laws.

“Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking queer! Covered in disease and filth! You’re useless, worthless, hellbound little fucker!” 

Greg hit the door running, not bothering to look back as his bag bounced against his back, his mother still shouting abuse. He wouldn’t cry. Not over that. If dad had been alive, he would have been accepted. But he was gone. And there was a reason that Greg had had a bag packed with the essentials for a long time now. Just in case he was ever found out. 

It had been stupid, keeping that letter in the house. He knew his mum went into his room, pretending to clean only to snoop. And she’d never been happy that he’d chosen to try and become a cop, dropping out of school, working long hours at night at a pub to save up money, and sometimes working a second job during the day cleaning a tattoo parlor, just trying to stay out of the house. He’d be able to sign up for the force’s training once he turned eighteen, but until then, he was on his own. 

He stepped into a coffee shop just as it began to rain, buying a cheap cup of black coffee and a muffin with a few coins he scrounged out of his back pocket. Luckily, the money he did have was in a bank, far away from his mother’s hands, even if it would never be enough to get him a flat, or even a flat share. He glared gloomily into his coffee, wondering if he’d be able to get a proper second cup. 

Muffin eaten, and coffee emptied but for the dregs, he tugged his hood up and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, walking back out into the rain. He wandered for a bit, finding himself on the edges of Camden Town just as it turned six in the evening. He grabbed a quick bite from one of the food stalls who knew him enough to let him bum a meal and went to stand out under an awning, avoiding the rain as it began to pummel down. 

He looked into the alley he was standing at the mouth of, seeing one shop with its light still on. With a shrug, he wandered down toward a new sign, one he didn’t recognise, hoping it was a good enough place to get out of the wet until he figured out where he was heading for the night. 

Glancing up at the sign, he smiled as he realized it was a music shop. It had just opened up, judging by the lack of anything in the window. Greg stepped inside, a hidden bell ringing out a E-flat as he pushed the door in. 

“Hello. We’re not open yet,” a man said, looking down at him with a smile from a ladder. Dressed in a rumpled plaid shirt and khaki’s, he seemed affable and genuine, if a bit messy, and Greg couldn’t help but smile back.

“Oh. Sorry,” Greg replied. “Just saw the light on, trying to get out of the rain. I can go.”

“Probably best. I don’t have anything to offer you,” the man said, the ladder beginning to wobble dangerously as he climbed down. 

“Hey, careful,” Greg said, dropping his bag at the door and hurrying over to stabilize it.

“Thank you. I keep meaning to fix the thing, but I also keep forgetting. I do that a lot,” the man said, carrying a few empty violin cases over to the other side of the room. 

“Do you have tools?” Greg asked. “I can fix it really quick for you. Probably just a loose screw.” 

“Oh...there might be tools. In the back room there,” the man said distractedly as he set up the cases on display. 

Greg raised his eyebrows with a smile, and headed back, finding the bright pink toolbox sitting on a shelf. He brought it out and went over to the ladder, finding that not only one, but three screws were loose on the ladders left foot. 

“I fixed it,” he said, looking over after he finished.

“Oh. Well thank you,” the man said, startling up from where he was laying out sheet music in a strange pattern on the floor. 

Greg smiled again. It felt like the man had forgotten that he’d even been there. “Do you own this place?”

“Yes! I’ve just bought it. Isn’t it lovely?” The man beamed, looking around excitedly. “Lots of work to do. I want to paint the entrance outside too. Green, I think. Green would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, be really cool,” Greg said, wetting his lips. “Ah...you know, if you need any extra help, I’m looking for another job.”

“Are you? How old are you?”

“Seventeen. Eighteen in a few months, and I did drop out of school, so I can work in the daytime,” Greg said hesitantly. “I’m gonna join the police force soon as I turn of age though.”

“Oh, police. Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? Hmm. I do need extra help around the place. My sons aren’t interested, and my wife is very busy. Oh! My name is Siger.” 

“Greg Lestrade.” Greg smiled. “Do...you think you’d be willing to give me a go, then?”

“Well, I don’t see why not. You seem like a good lad, and you fixed my ladder. When can you start?” 

“As soon as you need me,” Greg said. “I do have to go to work at night though.”

“Well, that’s all right. We normally close at six. Well, I say normally, but we’re not really open yet.” Siger gave a baffled frown. “Here! I’ll just give you a key. We open at ten, can you be here before then?”

“Uh, sure,” Greg said, blinking as the man started to rummage in his pockets, pulling out loose string, a block of rosin, two small, round pebbles, a guitar pick, a tuner piling them out on the counter before finally tugging out a key ring.

“Here they are.” Siger handed him a key. “Look, the key is green. Such a nice color.” He smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“Sure,” Greg said, smiling back. “Can’t wait.” He went and grabbed his bag, putting the key on the chain he wore around his neck and headed out, Siger waving as the door rang out again, this time a cheery A-sharp.


	2. Chapter 2

Greg groaned, stretching as he walked out of the pub, the wad of tips in his pocket still not enough for him to get a room for the night, crappy or not. And since it had been a bank holiday yesterday, he hadn’t been able to pull anything from his savings account. He hesitated and then turned back toward the music store, feeling guilty as he let himself in and then locked back up, heading into the back room. He laid out on the floor, using his bag as a pillow and checked the time. Nearly four. Siger would probably show up sometime before ten, so he could get at least a good five hours of sleep. With a yawn, he pulled his jacket tighter around him and shut his eyes, fading out into sleep. 

**

Greg’s eyes snapped open as he heard a loud crash, jumping up from the ground, the blanket covering him falling to the ground as he rushed onto the shop floor. 

Siger was sitting on the ground, surrounded by, thankfully, empty boxes, the ladder knocked on its side next to him. “Good morning, Gregory!” he said cheerfully. “Right on time! I forgot the ladder was there. You got here early. You looked cold, so I put the blanket on you.” 

Greg couldn’t help but give a the man a confused grin. “Yeah, came in a bit early, must have fallen asleep,” he lied. “Thanks. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Siger said, accepting the hand Greg offered him. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“No, not yet. Figured I could grab something later,” Greg said, following him over to the counter. 

“My wife made scones. She likes baking, says it’s all math. Makes very good scones,” Siger said, pulling out a large container. “Would you like some? I don’t like blueberry, and she sent them with me. I’ve eaten all the orange ones though. At least I think so.”

Greg chuckled. “Sure. I love blueberry,” he said. 

“Oh, good,” Siger said, wandering over to flip the switch on an electric kettle sitting on a shelf behind the counter. “Tea?”

“All right,” Greg said. “Lemme just duck into the bathroom. Be right back.”

He headed into the back room, grabbing his toothbrush from his pack and going about his business in the attached bathroom, coming out to find a steaming mug of tea waiting for him with a freshly buttered scone. “Thank you,” he said, leaning against the glass case. 

“You’re welcome,” Siger mumbled, apparently polishing off another orange scone he’d managed to dig out from the stacked container. “I was taking the boxes out to the bin. Can you break them down for me after you eat?”

“No problem,” Greg nodded, eyes very nearly fluttering shut as he bit into the scone, still warm and melt-in-your-mouth perfect. “These are amazing. Still raining pretty bad, huh?”

“Yes, it was a lovely walk,” Siger beamed. “My shoes are soaked!” 

Greg smiled, looking down and seeing that the man was barefoot. “I wouldn’t know, you aren’t wearing them,” he laughed. 

“Of course not. They were soaked.” Siger grinned. “Anyway, I’ve written out a list of the things I want to do today. Where did I put it?” 

Greg reached out for the list laying nearby, as Siger frowned, searching through his pockets. “Here, sir. Right here.” 

“Oh, thank you.”

Greg frowned as he flipped it over and realized it was written on the back of a page of complicated maths formulas. “Is this important?” 

Siger looked over, and shook his head as he sipped his tea. “No. That’s just my wife’s scrap paper. She left it in a pile for me to take.” 

“Your wife did all this? Why?” Greg asked. “Is she a professor?”

“No, no. She’s a mathematician. Or as I like to say, a math magician,” Siger said proudly. “She’s much smarter than I am about those things. But she loves me enough to put up with me. And make scones,” he said, looking into the container again in hopes he’d find another orange. 

Greg smiled. “How long have you been married?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She’s the one that likes numbers. Hmm…” Siger glanced at his fingers. “Now...Myc is nearly seventeen. Wait, no, he is seventeen, because Lock is ten, which means that we’ve been married for twenty six years.” 

“Wow.” Greg grinned. “That’s impressive, sir.”

“Is it? It’s mostly listening you know,” Siger said, putting down his mug and wandering over to a piano sitting in the corner of the store. “Marriage is just like music.”

Greg took his mug, following him over. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, you have to listen,” Siger said. “Mostly. But you have to do things, too.” He trailed his hands over the notes, tapping one. “Do you know how to play any instruments?”

“Well, guitar,” Greg said, a pang of loss in his chest at the thought of the instrument he’d had to leave behind. His mother had probably sold it by now. Or destroyed it. “And I used to play a little bit of piano. My dad taught me.”

“Oh, that’s brilliant, I love guitar,” Siger said excitedly. “Anyway, when you learned guitar, you learned to listen to the sounds it made, right? And you played the same chords over and over until you found the notes and the sounds that fit your chord to make a song. The ones that were good.”

“Yeah. Guess so,” Greg said, nodding, almost getting what Siger was saying, but not quite. 

“Well, marriage is the same. Life is the same really. You have to listen, and you are the chord that you play over and over the same way until you learn what song it fits into. You learn who you match up with.” Siger smiled and started to play, hands drifting easily over the keys, getting lost in the music. 

Greg smiled as Siger finished up a few long moments after, the last note lingering in the air. “What is that song?” he asked. “I’ve never heard it before.”

“Oh. I don’t know,” Siger said. “It needs a name. I’ve just made it up.”

“You wrote that?” Greg asked incredulously. “Just now?” 

“Yes, I suppose so. But it’s always been in my head,” Siger said. “There’s a lot of songs in my head. It’s why I forget so many things. The music is always going.” He stood and went over to the counter, poking around the box of scones again. “Maybe I should call it Orange,” he said, looking up at Greg. “What do you think?”

“I think it sounds more like…. St. Paul's feels,” Greg said. “Lofty. High. Fancy. Peaceful.”

Siger grinned. “That’s perfect!” He pulled out a few pages of blank sheet music and a pen from beneath the counter, starting to scratch the notes out. 

Greg smiled. “I’m gonna get started on the list,” he said. 

Siger nodded as if he hadn’t really heard what he’d said, and Greg smiled, grabbing the list and tucking it into his pocket before going to go break up the boxes and dart out into the alley, trying to avoid as much of the rain as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hello,” Greg called as the door rang out with a F-sharp a few weeks later. He’d still been sleeping in the backroom, trying to save enough money to get a flatshare. Hiding it from Siger had been easier than expected, since he showered at a gym a few streets over. He had a membership from before he been kicked out and was able to work out in the mornings, helpful since he’d need to pass the physical exam to join the force. 

“We’re not actually open yet, so I’m afraid we can only take future orders,” he said with a smile, turning to the matronly looking woman at the door.

“That’s all right dear, I’m here for Siger. You must be Gregory.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Greg said.

“He’s told me so much about you. My name is Violet. I’m his wife.”

“Oh, the math magician,” Greg smiled, climbing down from the ladder where he’d been hanging the new lamp. 

Violet sighed. “Yes, Siger does like his little jokes.” She shook her head. “Is he here?”

“Nah, he actually stepped out to go get some bananas,” Greg said. “He’s bringing them home to surprise you I guess, so don’t tell him I told you.”

“Mums the word dear, I’ve just brought his lunch.” Violet held up a bag she held. “He’s so forgetful.”

Greg chuckled. “Yeah. Too much music in his head, he says.” 

Violet nodded and wandered over to the counter, setting the bag down as she sat. “How old are you dear? Siger couldn’t remember.” 

“Seventeen, ma’am.” Greg picked up the new lamp and climbed the ladder carefully, settling it on the top step.

“Not in school?”

“No. I dropped out. Gonna be a police officer.” 

“That’s nice, dear. School isn't for everyone. Very brave. Why do you want to do that?” 

“Well, I’ve always wanted to help people,” Greg explained as he started to screw the new shade up. “And since I didn’t get good very marks in school and I didn’t really want to go to uni, I decided that the police force would be the way to go.” 

“Wonderful reasoning, dear. Are you hungry? There’s more than enough here for both of you, and I know Siger will pretend not to like cucumber, so you can have all of those sandwiches. That man just won’t eat his cucumbers,” Violet said. “Neither will my sons, you’d think that they were out to poison them.”

“Sounds wonderful. You’ve got two sons right? Just them?” Greg asked, craning his neck back to glare at the screw he was fiddling with.

“Oh, yes. They’re so smart,” Violet said. “Lock plays the violin and does very well in school, even though he refuses to behave. Mycie is in university already, he took his A-levels early.”

“Well, they’ve got smart parents,” Greg remarked. “I’ve seen some of your scratch paper. And Siger said you’d written a book?”

“Yes, yes,” Violet said, beaming up at him. “I’ve written three, actually, but he forgets. I’m working on another one right now, which is why you haven’t seen me about.”

“What’s that on?” Greg asked. 

“The Fibonacci sequence primarily. I’m looking at the mathematics of biology,” Violet said, unpacking the bag and laying out food. 

“That’s really interesting.” Greg gave a small shout of triumph as the screw tightened, just as the door rang out with a low C. 

“Violet,” Siger said happily as he walked in, a bag of peaches in his hand, as well as a battered guitar case and a gallon of paint. “You’ve come to the shop.”

“You forgot your lunch dear, and I needed a break from writing,” Violet smiled, pecking him on the cheek as he came over to her. “What do you have there?”

“I found this guitar in the middle of an alley, underneath a rubbish bin,” Siger said. “It’s a bit banged up, but I think I can save it. Might not be worth to sell, but no one was claiming it, so if I can’t find the owner, I’ll just use it to decorate the shop. It’s a lovely old thing. And I have paint for the shop door. And peaches.”

“Isn’t there a label inside the case?” Violet asked. “And why do you have so many peaches?”

“They were out of bananas,” Siger explained, setting the bag down. 

“I got the new light up, sir,” Greg called, climbing down the ladder and turning, only to freeze at the sight of the guitar case with the familiar stickers and scrapes. “Where did you find that?” he asked, swallowing. 

“In a rubbish bin. Do you know whose it is?” Siger asked. 

“Yeah.. Yeah, it’s..mine. Or it was,” Greg said in disbelief. “Can I?” He set the lamp shade down, and walked over.

“Did you lose it?” Siger asked. 

“No, it got...stolen,” Greg said, wondering how else he could explain.

“Oh. Well that’s not very good.” Siger shook his head and frowned. “I can probably fix it for you.”

“Really?” Greg asked, running his hands over the gouges in the wood, wincing at the shredded strings and burn marks. His mother had really put effort into destroying it before she’d gotten tired and tossed it out. 

“Well, the neck isn’t broken, so I don’t see why not. It might not sound the same as it did though,” Siger replied. “I’ll work on it this weekend.”

“Did you tell him, dear?” Violet asked. 

“Tell him what?”

“About this weekend.”

“Oh! No.” Siger chuckled. “I'm not going to have the shop open this weekend,” he said. “We’re going up to get Myc from Cambridge for spring break, and we'll stay up there for the weekend. So you don't need to come in.”

“Oh, all right,” Greg said, shrugging. “Thank you, sir.” 

“And I stopped by the bank to get your pay earlier, too,” Siger said, tugging his wallet out. “Here you are.” 

Greg accepted the bank notes with wide eyes. “This is too much.”

“Nonsense, you work hard. And that's for this whole month anyway,” Siger said. “I know I'm not much use. And we'll be opening soon, so there will be a lot more work to do.”

“Are...are you sure?” Greg asked, already trying to figure if this would be enough to put toward the security deposit on a flat if he added it to the money in the bank and found a roommate. 

“Yes, dear. Go buy something nice for yourself,” Violet said, patting him on the arm. 

“Yeah, yeah I will, thanks,” Greg replied, giving her a hesitant grin.

“Lunch time!” Siger said. “Oh, cucumber sandwiches?” He frowned and Violet smiled.

“I've already told Gregory he could have those,” Violet said, pushing the wrapped plate over to Greg. “This is for you.”

Siger grinned at the container. “Rolled ham and tomato? Perfect.” He stooped down, kissing Violet in thanks before he dug in. 

Violet smiled and leaned against him for a moment. “All right. I'm off,” she said. “I need to collect Lockie from school.” 

“Goodbye, love,” Siger said, mouth full and voice muffled as he swiped dressing from the corner of his mouth with a polka dotted yellow napkin.

“Thank you for the lunch,” Greg said, waving as she walked outside, sliding on a pair of sunglasses against the unusually bright day. “I'm going to get the first coat on the outside of the shop today.”

“Oh, excellent. I can't wait to see the green,” Siger said, tapping out a happy tune on the countertop. “I'm sure I could find a song that sounds green, aren't you?”

“If anyone could, you could sir,” Greg said, chuckling.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Greg sings is Van Morrison's "Brown Eyed Girl." Find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfmkgQRmmeE

“Fired? What do you mean you're firing me, Lou?” Greg asked angrily.

“Look, lad, I'm sorry. But we don't have the means to keep two busboys on when we don't need them,” Lou replied, busy stacking glasses behind the bar. “And Mark has been here longer, and he can get behind the bar if we need him to.”

 “I can mix drinks as well,” Greg argued.

 “Not legally,” Lou said, shrugging. “And I'm not getting my license taken away because I've got a minor behind the bar. It's already iffy enough that I've got you cleaning up.”

Greg groaned. “I can't fucking believe this.”

“I'm sorry, lad. I'll give you up to next week advance pay, all right?” Lou said. “I know you're not having an easy go o1f it, not with your mum the way she is.”

“She kicked me out,” Greg muttered, suddenly feeling exhausted. He slumped against the bartop, rubbing his temples.

 Lou looked at him in concern. “Jesus, lad, when? And why?”

“‘Bout three weeks ago. Been staying with a friend,” Greg lied. “Saving up for a proper flat share.” He sighed. “And she found a letter in my room she didn't like.”

 Lou made a noncommittal noise, coming around the bar to sit beside him. “You want to talk about it?”

 “Not really. Just a letter from someone I used to know,” Greg said.

 “This letter wouldn't have anything to do with that nice American lad that came through last summer, would it?” Lou asked knowingly.

 “It would, yeah. Bit more than friends,” Greg said hesitantly, wondering how much to say. “But summer ended and so did his interest. Wrote me a letter. Knew I shouldn't have kept it.”

Lou patted him on the back. “You couldn't have known, lad.”

“I did know mum was like this though. I had a bag packed for just in case. Had to leave the rest behind. Probably been binned or made it to the charity shops by now,” Greg muttered. “Got the guitar though. Friend found it in a rubbish bin, and I happened to be there when he brought it home. He was gonna sell it.”

 “As long as you're safe,” Lou said. “And if you need a flat, I've got a friend with a room he's trying to get out of until the end of next summer. Might give it to you for less since you're taking over in the middle. You'd have two other roommates, but it's something,” Lou said.

 “That’d be great,” Greg said. “Honestly. I've got nearly enough saved for a deposit, but I need a roommate. That would work.”

“He's a nice guy. Ant Michel. I'll give you his information.” Lou stood and went behind the bar again, scribbling on a napkin. “Here. And here's the pay. Sorry again, Greg. I just can't afford it.”  He passed over the napkin and a few bills.

“It's fine,” Greg said, tucking both away in his pocket. “I understand.” He gave Lou a tired smile and zipped up his jacket, heading back out into the streets and toward the music store, stopping only to grab takeaway to fill his empty stomach.

 **

 “Two weeks? Yeah, that’ll be fine,” Greg said, sighing in relief. “Thanks, Ant, you’re a lifesaver, mate.” He grinned at the phone, and checked the paper he’d written his bank balance on that morning. By the time the two weeks rolled around, he’d have enough for the deposit and the first months rent, and would be able to get out of the music shop before Siger was any the wiser.

He hung up and heading back into the front room of the shop just as Siger walked in, smiling up as the door chimed. “Gregory! Look, I fixed it,” he said, holding out the battered guitar case. 

Greg grinned. “Oh my god, thank you, Siger.”

 “Here, you should play. I don’t know how it sounded before, but it still sounds good,” Siger said, laying it on the counter and opening the clasps. He pulled the guitar out, giving the strings a gentle brush before handing the instrument to Greg.

 Greg couldn’t stop grinning as he fiddled with the knobs, tuning the guitar by ear. “It’s still perfect,” he said, unable to believe his luck. “Just like it used to be. I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“If I give you some sheet music, do you think you could learn it?” Siger asked. “I want to know how my song sounds on guitar. I don’t play it, so I can’t try it out.”

“Jesus, of course,” Greg said with a smile. “No problem at all. I’d love to.”

 Siger grinned and nodded. “Perfect! But not today! Today’s the day the shop opens for good!”

 Greg glanced over at the clock. “Yep. Thirty minutes to go. You excited?”

“Of course! I can hardly hear myself think over all the happy music,” Siger exclaimed, waving his hands as he went to put on the kettle. “I wonder how many sales we’ll make today!”

Greg chuckled. “Who knows?” He took the case off the counter, closing it up and leaning it against the wall, taking a seat behind the counter with his guitar, starting to strum a lazy, happy  tune.

 **

“Well, that was disappointing,” Siger sighed, hours later as Greg turned the sign on the door to closed. “No one came in.” He slumped down on the counter, munching on a overly large carrot and staring gloomily out the window. 

“Gotta give it some time,” Greg said. “I’m sure people will come in. Maybe we should set up a stereo system or something. Play some music, people will hear and come in.”

 “Hmm...that would be a good idea. You can play,” Siger said, brightening. “Will you play tomorrow?”

“I’d love to,” Greg said, grinning himself. “Been too long since I played for an audience.”

 

**

Greg settled out under the awning on a stool, his guitar case open at his feet with a set of cards from the shop and a small tip jar. He smiled as a group of girls passed by him, and winked as one girl in particular giggled, brown eyed, blonde and tan, when they made eye contact.

 

Clearing his throat, he looked out over the throngs of people headed to the market and down the streets, and began to sing.

_Hey, where did we go_

_Days when the rains came ?_

_Down in the hollow_

_Playing a new game,_

The girl from before paused a few windows down, flicking her gaze back to him with a hesitant grin. Her friends laughed as Greg winked again, still singing, and the girl bit her lip, doubling back.

 

_Laughing and a-running, hey, hey,_

_Skipping and a-jumping_

_In the misty morning fog with_

_Our, our hearts a-thumping_

_And you, my brown-eyed girl,_

_You, my brown-eyed girl._

 

Greg tipped his head to her as she tossed a few coins in his jar and took a card, still singing as she waved a quick goodbye, her friends beckoning her away.

 

_Whatever happened_

_To Tuesday and so slow_

_Going down to the old mine with a_

_Transistor radio._

_Standing in the sunlight laughing_

_Hide behind a rainbow's wall,_

_Slipping and a-sliding_

_All along the waterfall_

_With you, my brown-eyed girl,_

_You, my brown-eyed girl._

Still singing, Greg looked up, catching the eye of a lanky redhead, dressed in a waistcoat and neatly pressed trousers. He smiled and gave him a wink, imagining where else he might find freckles like the ones that dotted the boy’s nose. Finishing up the song, he stood and stretched, shirt rising up to show a slip of skin. Unable to help his smirk, Greg sat back down, taking the guitar up.

“Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl. Certainly good to capture the interest of a few American girls,” the redhead said, suddenly a great deal closer.

Greg smiled at him again, and nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t sound like you think that’s a good thing though, so do you have a request?” he asked, still with a cheeky grin on his face as he smiled at the other boy.

“It’s not very useful since you’re trying to draw in customers for the music store in the alley,” the boy replied. “You should try something different. Bowie, or the Smiths. Something that will draw those that are interested in performing themselves. Getting famous for their music.” The boy scoffed, shaking his head.

“Don’t think it’ll happen?” Greg asked. “You know, all those people had to start somewhere. Why not here, on the streets?” He grinned, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Greg.”

“Mycroft. Pleasure.”

“Nice to meet you, Mycroft,” Greg said as they shook. “So, you have an idea then?”

“Start with The Smiths and then transition to Bowie as it gets later,” Mycroft said. “Add in a few American hits. Try the Grateful Dead. They seem to have been rather popular.”

“Mm, good plan.” Greg strummed the strings. “How about the Beatles though?”

Mycroft sighed. “If you must. Good day, Gregory.”

“It’s Greg. Will I see you around again? I’ll play anything you like,” Greg said, fluttering his eyelashes. He was rewarded as Mycroft blinked, drawing back with a faint blush and a guarded look.  

“I would assume so. You’re working for my father,” Mycroft said, straightening his back and heading into the music shop.

Greg grinned after him in surprise and started to play again, though he messed up on a few chords, distracted by the pair of blue eyes that he’d just encountered, reminiscent of a muddied lake in high summer, and the fact he’d apparently been flirting with the boss's son.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Greg stirred with a yawn, rolling over only to come face to face with a pair of inquisitive, marbled eyes.

“Jesus Christ!” Greg jumped back, staring in shock on the young curly headed boy. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Sherlock. Why are you living here?” 

“I...I’m not,” Greg said, scrambling for his shirt. “I just came in early and fell asleep.”

“You’re lying,” Sherlock huffed. “I’m telling father that you live in the back room.” He stood up.

“Wait, wait, Sherlock, please don’t tell your da,” Greg said, trying to untangle himself from his blanket as Sherlock flounced out. “Fuck.” He pulled his shirt on and started shoving his blanket in his bag, picking it up and throwing it on his back. He walked out, only see the entire Holmes family staring back at him. “Ah…”

“Gregory,” Siger said quietly, frowning in confusion as Sherlock stood beside him. “Have you been living in the back room?”

“Shit.” Greg scrubbed his hand through his hair, biting his lip viciously. “Yeah, I have. Look, I’m sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to stay, my mum kicked me out, and my dad’s dead and none of my friends could have put me up on the sofa for longer than a day. I’ve got a flat share now, but I can’t move in for another week and a half at least, so please just don’t fire me or call the cops,” he begged, looking between Siger and Violet. “Please. I’ll get a hotel room, I was just trying to save money to afford the flat. I didn’t harm anything or steal anything, I just slept here, I swear.”

“Right then,” Violet said firmly after a few beats of silence. “You’ll come live with us.”

“Wha...what?” Greg asked, sagging in relief, bag dropping to the ground. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Nonsense, we’re not having you living in a hotel for two weeks and spending your hard earned money,” Violet said, shaking her head. “And of course we won’t call the police, or fire you.” 

“Oh no,” Siger said, copying his wife’s motion. “That would be silly. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Thank you,” Greg said weakly, feeling Mycroft and Sherlock’s eyes on him. 

“Siger will bring you home with him tonight,” Violet said. “And is that bag all you have?”

“Uh, yeah. And my guitar,” Greg said, ducking his head, suddenly feeling ashamed. “I didn’t have time to grab anything else.” 

Violet gave an upset huff. “What kind of mother throws their child onto the street?” she asked angrily. 

“He’s gay. That’s why,” Sherlock said, blinking up at his mother. 

“Sherlock, what have I told you about-”

“No..no he’s right,” Greg said hesitantly. “I am...I’m gay. At least mostly.” 

“Oh, we don’t mind that dear, we know you’re not going to hurt anyone or anything. Such a ridiculous stigma,” Violet said distractedly. “‘Lockie just has a nasty habit of spreading around secrets that people aren’t ready to tell yet.”

Sherlock scowled up at his mother. 

“Ah...Right,” Greg said. “Are you sure you have room?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” Siger said, patting him on the shoulder. “And you can stay as long as you need.” 

“Well...thank you. Really,” Greg said. 

“And tomorrow is Sunday, so the shop isn’t open. I’ll take you for some new clothes,” Violet said. “I need to take Mycroft as well since he’s grown so much. His ankles are nearly showing in all of his trousers.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense. It’s happening. Now then, Siger, make sure Gregory and the boys get a good lunch. I need to go to my lecture,” Violet said, interrupting him. “There’s more than enough food behind the counter, I’ve made sure of it. And no cucumber sandwiches for you dear.” She pecked the man on the cheek. “Mycie, ‘Lock, be good and no running off.”

“Yes, mummy,” Sherlock said, already turning and heading out to the back room. 

“Mycie, did you hear me?”

Mycroft pulled his gaze from the window of the shop and nodded, studiously avoiding Greg’s gaze. “Yes, mummy, of course. And I’ll make sure Sherlock doesn’t get very far.”

“Such a good boy. All right. Off I go.” She mussed Mycroft’s hair and strode out of the shop, Mycroft following to intercept Sherlock, who’d managed to slither out the back window, and was already clambering down from the roof onto the top of the rubbish bin. 

“I really am sorry,” Greg said when he and Siger were left alone, looking up at the man. “For lying at least.”

“It’s all right, Greg,” Siger said, patting his shoulder again. “I did wonder why you were always here so early. And the music always seemed a bit sad and lost when your song played in my head. I guess I know why.”

“I have a song?” Greg asked, looking up at him.

“Of course, Gregory. Everyone has one. I could play it for you if you liked,” Siger said, wandering over to the piano. “But not right now. It’s not completely done yet. I’m missing something,” he said, trailing off as he trailed his fingers over the keys instead. 

“I’ll just open up then,” Greg said quietly, knowing Siger wasn’t listening anymore. At least, not to anything Greg would be able to hear. He picked up his bag again and stowed it in the back room until later, listening to the brothers scuffle outside. 

**

“Are you sure it isn’t any trouble?” Greg asked, glancing dubiously up at the rather chill looking house as Siger led him to the front door. 

“I’m very sure, Gregory. We wouldn’t offer if it were,” Siger replied, opening the door. “Violet! I’m home.” 

Greg toed his shoes off as Siger did the same, looking around the surprisingly comfy and warm duplex. Leafy, green plants spilled from every window, and vibrant rugs littered the old and scraped wooden floor. Greg could just catch a glance a well appointed sitting room, complete with tall bookshelves and a piano, at the end of the hall. 

“I’m in the kitchen, dear!”

“Come on. Set your bag down, I’ll show you where it goes in a minute,” Siger said, drifting off down the hall. “What did you make?” 

“Pasta. Hello, Gregory,” Violet said, smiling at him as he followed Siger in. “Sit dear, have some tea.”

Siger was already sitting at the table with a mug clasped in his hand, scribbling something on the tablecloth with a permanent pen. 

Violet slipped a blank piece of sheet music under the nib, and passed Greg a mug. “If you like sugar, it’s on the table dear, and milk in the fridge. Biscuits in the tin next to the sugar.”

“Thank you.” Greg added a bit of sugar and took a biscuit, munching slowly as he looked around. The kitchen was painted a rather mellow green, and herbs sat on the windows sill, as did a small black kitten. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a cat,” Greg said.

“Oh, we don’t. He has us,” Violet said, glancing over as she stirred a pot of sauce. “Sherlock likes his strays. Actually followed him home one day, and now he won’t leave.” She smiled. “I’m rather fond of him though.”

“Does he have a name?” Greg asked.

“It changes on a weekly basis. Siger likes to rename him. What is it this week, dear?”

“Hmm?” Siger glanced up, pen stilling. 

“The cat, dear. What’s his name this week?”

“Oh. Sax.” 

Siger went back to his music and Greg smiled. “It’s a good name,” he said. “Can I help with anything?”

“No, no, we’re fine here. If you like, you can take your bag to the guest room,” Violet replied. “Just up the stairs and the second door on the left. You’re next to Mycroft.”

“Oh. All right. Thank you again for letting me stay,” Greg said.

“Not a problem.”

Greg went back out into the hall, and lifted his bag, climbing the narrow stairs. He came out into an equally narrow hall, and went down to the second door, pushing it open. He smiled at the plush bed, covered in what looked like handmade blankets, already imagining how nice it would feel to sleep there at night instead of a hard floor. He set his bag down, unpacking what little he had and setting it in the empty chest of drawers. 

“Where’s your guitar?” 

Greg turned and smiled at Sherlock. “Hey, Sherlock. I left it at the shop since that’s where I use it the most.”

“I play violin,” Sherlock informed him, watching with abnormally focused eyes as Greg sat on the edge of the bed.

“That’s good,” Greg said. “I was always glad I’d learned an instrument, you know?”

“How did you father die?” Sherlock asked, sitting down cross legged on the floor and steepling his fingers.

“Ah..lung cancer,” Greg said, blinking. “Why?”

“Because I couldn’t see, and I wanted to know,” Sherlock said. “He and your mother were divorced. You moved in with her after he died. And you didn’t want to, but you had to.”

“That’s right,” Greg said. 

“She kicked you out for being gay,” Sherlock said. 

“Yeah, she did. Found a letter someone I’d dated wrote me,” Greg said.

“Mycroft is-”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped angrily from the doorway. “Mummy is calling you.”

“No, she’s not,” Sherlock said, but rose from the floor anyway and galloped down the stairs. 

Greg sent Mycroft a smile. “‘S all right, you know. I don’t mind.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed, and he turned on his heel, stalking out, just as Violet called for supper. Greg got up and headed down, wondering what he’d done to bother the other boy so much. 

**

Greg slipped into bed that night, yawning the second his head hit the pillow. The house was silent around him, lulling him to sleep and into strange dreams of muddy blue eyes, filled the strain of a sad and lonely cello.


	6. Chapter 6

Mycroft avoided Greg at the breakfast table the next morning, which was all right by Greg, who was still trying to parse out why the look in Mycroft’s eyes was making him feel so melancholy. Violet prattled on, covering up the silence, and Siger’s distracted humming.

Once they’d eaten, Violet called a taxi, dragging Mycroft and Greg out of the house and to the shops where they spent far longer than Greg could ever remember trying on jumpers and trousers, shirts and shoes. He protested at every new store, but Violet ignored him, and by the time they’d finished, he had a new wardrobe for summer, fall, and everything in between, including a set of swim trunks and wellies.

“One last shop!” Violet said brightly as they walked out, laden with bags. “Mycroft take Greg to Andrew. I’m going to go into the bookstore and make sure they received the signed copies that were sent out.”

“Mummy, does he really-”

“Go, Mycroft. And I’ll stop for something to eat on the way back,” Violet said, taking the shopping and waving them off.

Mycroft sighed, and nodded. “Yes, mummy.” He set off down the road, Greg following, feeling rather like an unwanted puppy.

“Where are we headed?” Greg asked.

“Fleet Street.”

“And what’s there?” Greg asked.

“A tailor,” Mycroft sighed.

“Why are we going to a tailor?” Mycroft’s gaze moved skyward in a silent plea for patience, and Greg decided to shut up. “Right. Nevermind.”

**

Two hours later, Greg was wishing he’d argued a bit more, since he was standing, stripped down to his pants as the aforementioned Andrew, a rather quiet man from Vietnam, measured him and pinned fabric around him. Mycroft stood scowling in the corner, still avoiding eye contact, and Violet had poked her head in only to inform them that she’d be waiting at a cafe down the street when they were finished.

“Good, good. I will fix the suit for you,” Andrew finally said, standing. “Have it ready in two weeks.”

“Am I done then?” Greg asked hopefully, glancing at his clothes.

“Yes. Good day. I will put this on the Holmes’ bill?” Andrew asked, glancing at Mycroft.

“Yes, that’s fine, Andrew, thank you. And I’ll need my trouser legs let down, I’ll have them delivered,” Mycroft said, nodding. He caught Greg’s eye and turned away again, staring back at the bolts of fabric adorning the wall.

Greg dressed quickly, glad to be free of the shop as he and Mycroft stepped out, walking down the street in silence.

Violet smiled as they joined her in the cafe. “Hello, you two. Go get something to eat and a coffee,” she smiled, passing a few notes over.

“Oh. Thank you, ma’am,” Greg said, taking them as Mycroft stalked over to the counter. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, dear. I have my coffee here. And do ignore Mycroft’s sulk, won’t you? I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“All right.” Greg smiled at her and went up to order and pay.

Violet chattered on as they sat down, telling them about her trip to the bookstore, and passing a copy of her book to Greg with a pleasant, “Here, dear. Just in case you’re interested.”

Greg listened, and nodded at all the right bits, even though his mind began to wander to the boy next to him. Mycroft was picking at a small pastry, and drinking a cup of plain, black coffee. He’d been home for nearly a week and would be headed back to school in another, seemed sour and bored with everything. But he was gorgeous anyway and Greg was more than a bit aware that he found the other boy attractive in ways that had nothing to do with the way he looked. Greg had caught him smiling at Sherlock earlier, and thought he had the nicest smile he’s seen since his dad died. Greg had caught a glimpse of excited emotion on his face when they’d walked past a book shop, and thought it was brilliant the way Mycroft had brightened up. And Greg knew that Mycroft liked music, and he'd realized be more than willing to play anything for Mycroft. All of which added up to the realization that Greg _fancied_ Mycroft. Even though it seemed that Mycroft was completely and utterly indifferent toward him, if not outright hostile in the way he ignored Greg.

“Oh! Emma just walked past, I'll be right back, I must say hello! She's been in America,” Violet said, hopping up and chasing down an older woman as she passed the cafe, leaving Greg and Mycroft alone.

“She a family friend?” Greg asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“Yes.” Mycroft took a sip of coffee, staring out the window.

“Look, Mycroft. You're brilliant, and you've got an excellent family and if I've managed to offend you, or piss you off at all, I'd like it if you told me. I didn't mean to do anything, and if I can fix whatever it is, I will,” Greg said quietly, staring into his mug.

“You've done nothing, you're simply present,” Mycroft said sharply, pushing his cup away and standing. “Tell Mummy I'm headed out and I'll be back for supper, if you please.”

Greg looked up at him with a frown. “Don't leave because I-”

“I'm not leaving because you've done something, I'm leaving because I have a previous engagement,” Mycroft said, pursing his lips. “And I'm more than capable of taking care of myself, so I don't see why I shouldn't go about my business as I please. I certainly don't need your approval for anything.”

With that, he strode out, leaving Greg staring after him, one hand wrapped around his drink.

**

“Caught fire?” Greg asked in shock. “What do you mean the flat caught fire? Well, who the hell left-you know what, I don't need this right now. Where am I supposed to go now? Hello? Hello?”

Greg slammed the phone down angrily, and swore, sliding down to the ground and viciously running his hands through his hair.

Siger poked his head in with a frown at the thud. “Bad news? Your music is all jumbled, Gregory.”

Greg groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Sorry, Siger. Just...dunno what I'm going to do now. Have six months till I'm of age still, and the flat I was meant to be moving into burnt down.”

“Oh, I see.” Siger came and slipped down onto the floor beside him, sitting crosslegged. “Well, no matter. You'll stay with us a bit longer.”

“I can't ask that,” Greg said miserably. “You're already paying me too much for working here.”

“Then pay rent?” Siger suggested. “I'm sure you and Violet can work out a fair amount, aren't you? She's very good with numbers. And then, you can stay as long as you like. Through the summer even.”

Greg bit back a sigh, lifting his head. “Are you sure?” he asked softly, voice shaking just a bit.

“Oh I'm very sure,” Siger said. “We can be quite a family, you know. But there's always room for someone else if need be.” He reached out and patted Greg on the shoulder. “Back to work and put it out of your mind. I'll tell Violet before supper tonight.”

Greg smiled. “Thank you, sir. Really. It means a lot.”

Siger smiled and patted Greg’s shoulder again before standing and heading out to the front, humming a cheery tune.

**

“Gregory! I need a favor!”

Greg sighed, struggling with a massive box of guitar picks that had accidentally been delivered. “Just a minute, Siger, I’m trying to-oh, thanks,” he said, blinking in surprise as Siger hefted the box with ease. “You’re stronger than you look.”

“I used to box. But I didn’t like the fighting, so I stopped. The music was too harsh and angry in the ring. Too much unhappiness,” Siger said, smiling. “I can show you pictures when we go home. I met Violet there. She was betting on the fights and using some sort of algorithm calculation to figure out who would win. She’s so smart.” He sighed happily, hefting the box up onto one of the shelves. “She had the sweetest music. Still does. I always loved her song the most.”

Greg couldn’t help but smile. “I hope I find someone whose song I like,” he said. “If I bring them round for supper, think you can tell me if we match up?”

“Oh no,” Siger said, eyes twinkling. “You’ll have to do that for yourself.”

Greg stuck out his tongue, and then laughed. “Fair enough. What did you need me to do?”

“Oh! An order accidentally went to the house. Violet called, but I want it here today,” Siger said, waving his hand. “Can you go get it and bring it back? I’ll give you money for a cab.”

“Sure,” Greg said. “What is it?”

“Green violins!” Siger said excitedly. “I saw them on a sign and I had to have them.”

“Green violins?” Greg asked, eyebrows raised. “All right then. Be back in a few. You want me to bring lunch with me to?”

“No, no. I have some peaches. You should eat though,” Siger said, already moving on to the next boxes that needed sorted. “Try some Thai food. I hear it’s very good.”

“Yes, sir. Will do,” Greg said, shaking his head. “Be back in a bit.”

“No rush. Enjoy the lunch.”

Greg headed out, deciding to go to the house first.

When he got there, the door was unlocked, so he just pushed it open without bothering to call out, finding the box in the hall. He went to lift it up, and then paused as he heard the sound of someone tuning a cello. Smiling as the sound turned into the first faint threads of a song, he followed it out through the kitchen and to the back door. Mycroft was turned away from him, sitting on the garden wall, cello between his legs.

Greg leaned against the door frame, simply listening as Mycroft played, bow drifting over the strings to pull a haunting melody. The music was oddly familiar, and Greg closed his eyes, feeling almost lonely as the music surrounded him.

The song began to swell, Mycroft playing faster, the bow practically flying across the strings as if the instrument were a fiddle not a cello. Greg felt something clutch around his heart as the song slowed again, falling into a deep, slow, tone before stopping completely, the notes hanging in the air unfinished and raw. He opened his eyes, only to see Mycroft turned round, looking at him, face open and shocked and emotional.

“That was beautiful,” Greg said quietly. “Is it yours?”

Greg could see the second Mycroft actually realized he was there, realized he’d heard as the redhead’s face grew icy, angry. “That’s none of your business. You weren’t meant to hear,” Mycroft snapped, standing up.

“Whoa, Mycroft, I’m sorry,” Greg said quickly. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Upset? I’m not upset,” Mycroft replied, though the tense set of his muscles and the tone of his voice proved otherwise.

“It really was though,” Greg said, stepping in front of him as Mycroft made to escape. “It was gorgeous. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“Get out of my way.”

“All right, I will. When you tell me what I’ve done to piss you off so badly,” Greg said, blocking the door. “Whatever it is, I want to fix it.”

Mycroft huffed. “You don’t have to be so bloody nice all the time!” he snapped after a moment’s indecision.

“Nice?” Greg asked incredulously. “You’re mad at me because I’m being nice?”

“Oh, honestly, just move,” Mycroft fumed. “How is it possible that someone can be so-”

“What is going on here?” Violet interrupted, arms crossed as she stood at the door.

“Nothing, mummy.” Mycroft pushed past them both, leaving his cello behind.

“I dunno, really,” Greg said, looking at her. “I just heard him playing, and then complimented him, and he got angry. So I asked him what I’d done to make him upset, and it made it worse.”

Violet sighed. “Oh, these boys will be the death of me,” she said, and stepped out into the yard. “It isn’t your fault, Gregory. I’ll speak with him. Why don’t you bring Siger his package?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Greg said, watching her pack up the cello for a moment before heading back inside, still feeling a bit guilty.

**  
Greg sat up in bed as there was a quiet rap at his door late that night. “Yeah?”

The door opened to show Mycroft, looking only slightly contrite. “I apologize for earlier,” he said, not making eye contact. “I am not used to people other than family listening to me play and I overreacted. You startled me, as I’d thought I was alone.”

“Oh.” Greg nibbled his bottom lip for a moment. “Well, I’m sorry too then. I should have told you I was there.”

Mycroft only shrugged. “As you will.”

“Right. Well...it really was amazing,” Greg said, looking at him. “I’d love to hear more. When you finish it.”

“If.”

“If?”

“I’m not sure I ever will,” Mycroft admitted. “Composing does not come as easily to me as it does to my brother and father.”

“Well, you seemed to be doing really well in the garden.” Greg smiled. “I bet you can do it.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, seeming set slightly off guard by Greg’s comment. “Ah...goodnight, Gregory.”

“G’night, My.” Greg lay down as Mycroft shut the door, setting his book aside and turning off the light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft's song is based upon the works of Adam Hurst, whose website may be found [here.](http://www.worldcello.com/)
> 
> In particular, please look at the following songs! 
> 
>  
> 
> ["Sparrow"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kX4-OMWCdCc)
> 
>  
> 
> ["Ritual"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oUr_balvaHs)


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, Sherlock. Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” Greg asked, glancing up from the new sheet music Siger was having him learn as the shop bell rang.

“School is boring,” Sherlock said, hopping up onto a stool next to him. “And it’s easy to sneak out. People are stupid.”

“Not all people,” Greg said, thumbing the strings of his guitar. “Here, can you read your father’s handwriting there?” he asked, pointing.

Sherlock ignored him, looking at the guitar instead. “What happened to it?”

“My guitar? My mother tried to destroy it and failed,” Greg replied. “Why?”

“Was it because you’re gay?”

Greg sighed. “Yeah. And I’m not really gay, you know. I’m...well, I dunno actually. I just like both. Not sure if there’s a way to say that, you know?”

“There is. It’s called bisexuality,” Sherlock said.

“Wait, how do _you_ know that?” Greg asked, looking at him.

“I know a lot of things,” Sherlock said, hopping up and wandering over to the violins. He picked one of the new green ones with a frown.

“I see that,” Greg said.

“I’m gay too,” Sherlock said, bringing the violin back over and setting it down.

“Huh?”

“You heard me,” Sherlock said. “I don’t understand why father likes green so much.”

“He says it’s a happy color,” Greg replied.

“How can a color be happy?”

“I don’t think he’s saying it is the color that is happy, Sherlock. It’s the way it makes you feel.” Greg smiled. “C’mon. What makes you happy?”

Sherlock blinked at him. “What?”

“What makes you happy?” Greg asked again.

“Knowing things.”

“Like what?”

“How to play violin. What types of trees are outside. What dirt is comprised of. Ash. I like to study ash.”

“Well, there you go. Ash is happy,” Greg said. “The color green probably reminds your da of something that makes him happy.”

“My mother’s eyes are green,” Sherlock said.

“Oh.” Greg smiled. “You know? I think that would do it.”

They both looked up as Siger entered the shop, humming a quiet tune. “‘Lock! What are you doing here? You should be in school. Shouldn’t you?”

“School’s out early. There was a smoke bomb,” Sherlock said innocently.

Siger frowned. “Are you sure? That sounds very irresponsible of the science teachers.”

“Very sure,” Sherlock said, taking the violin up and starting to tune it. “I set it off,” he said under his breath, Greg forcing back a chuckle as he turned to his sheet music.

**

Greg looked out at the rain pelting the shop window, wondering if it would let up before he had to head home. Siger had left him to close up today, and neither of them had expected the absolute onslaught of weather that had hit about a half an hour ago.

Catching a glimpse of red hair and a black umbrella through the foggy glass, Greg opened the door, quickly ushering in a soaking wet and shivering Mycroft. “Nasty, isn’t it?” he asked, smiling. “Lemme go get a towel.”

He went into the back, grabbing a towel from the bathroom. “Here.”

“Thank you,” Mycroft said, taking the towel and attempting to dry his face, already stripped of his jacket and waistcoat.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Greg asked, shrugging his own jacket off and holding it out. “Here, you’re freezing, take this.”

Mycroft looked like he wanted to argue, but took the jacket, pulling it on. “Mummy sent me out to pick up some things. I was nearby when the storm hit and thought it best to ride it out here, considering. Is my father here?”

“Nah, he left for home an hour ago. You probably just missed him,” Greg said, walking over and turning up the heat.

Mycroft sighed. “I’ll wait till it lets up, and then I’ll leave,” he said, still standing awkwardly by the door. “I don’t want to be in your way.”

Greg laughed. “It’s not like there’s throngs of people waiting for my attention,” he said, sitting down behind the counter. “You’re not in the way, Mycroft. Honest.”

“If you insist,” Mycroft replied, looking relieved, yet still anxious.

Greg nodded. “It’s fine,” he said, and then went back to pouring over the next of the three pages of sheet music Siger had handed him earlier.

“What are you reading?” Mycroft asked softly a few moments later.

“Song your dad wants me to learn to play on guitar since he doesn’t play it.”

“Did he write it?”

“Yeah.” Greg looked up at him. “You don’t hafta stay so far away. I don’t bite. Much.” He smiled.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but stepped over. “May I see?”

Greg passed him the papers. “What do you think of it?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Mycroft said. “It seems to be less of a solo piece and more of an accompaniment but he doesn’t say for what instrument. However, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s still in the strings family.”

“It’s slower than I’m used to,” Greg said, nodding. “And I thought it seemed a bit bare. I’m mostly trying to copy it over onto a new sheet so I can really get at it with the guitar. Your da is brilliant, but he’s got crap handwriting.”

Mycroft smiled. “That is very true.” He handed the paper back over. “I wish you luck. And don’t be surprised if he changes it on you more than once.”

“Composers,” Greg shrugged, picking his pencil back up. “I’m nearly done copying these over anyway. You wanna hear me play it?”

“You’d play for me?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind,” Greg said, giving him a small smile. “Do you actually want to hear me play though?”

“I...that would be lovely,” Mycroft said, sitting down hesitantly. “You have the wrong note copied over there. That’s an E.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Greg said, erasing it and writing the new note in. “There then. Three pages, and all of them transcribed. Not bad for a day's work, yeah?”

He got up, aware of Mycroft’s eyes on him as he set up a music stand, and then grabbed his guitar and the papers, setting up.

“Lemme know what you think. I'm gonna try something a little different than what he has here the second time around, so listen for the differences, yeah?” Greg asked, looking over at Mycroft.

Mycroft nodded and Greg started to play, working his way through the song with a few mistakes, surprised with the way Siger wanted the music to rise and fall now that he was playing it.

“That was the first run through, what did you think?”

“Lovely,” Mycroft said quietly. “It was….very well played, Gregory. Even with the errors.”

Greg smiled. “Thanks, My. You wanna hear my take now?”

“I’d love that,” Mycroft said.

He leaned on the counter as Greg began to play again, drowning out the rain hitting the shopfront with a tune that was nearly as beautiful.

**  
“Gregory, you have a letter.”

Greg looked up in surprise, wondering if Lu had written him, or if his mother had tracked him down “A letter,” he asked, almost worried. “ Are you sure it's for me? I don't know who would write to me.”

“I'm certain it’s for you,” Violet handed him a letter. “ In fact, I know who it's from.” She smiled and then stepped out of the sitting room, heading toward the garden.

“You do?” Greg took the letter looking at the postmark. He smiled as he recognized the handwriting opening it immediately, only to frown as he recognized sheet music. “Mycroft’s sent me sheet music,” he announced.

“May I see?” Siger looked up from the clarinet he was currently polishing.

Greg passed it over and Siger examined the notes with a smile. “Mycroft’s sent you his song. He’s been working on it for a very long time.”

“Why’d he send it to me?” Greg asked.

“I think he thinks you will appreciate it. You are good with music, Gregory.” Siger handed the paper back. “Maybe he thinks you can help him finish it.”

“Do you think I can?”

“I think you should write him back. Mycroft would like a friend like you.”

Greg nodded. “I think I will. He’s smart, way smarter than I am.”

“Yes, well, you’ve seen their mother,” Siger said.

Greg chuckled. “Yeah. But I also know you, Siger.”

“You think I’m smart?” Siger asked, a look of sudden confusion coming over his face.

“Yes.” Greg stood and patted his arm. “Just look at that clarinet. You’ve polished it up and fixed it up, and I bet you can play it, too, can’t you?”

Siger grinned. “I can. I’m using it for the Green song.”

“Well, see?” Greg grinned back. “There you go. I’m gonna go see if Violet can give me some stationary and a stamp.”

“I’m sure she can.”

**  
_Mycroft,_

_How much of that song is new since you went back to school? I think I only heard up to the fourth page or so before you stopped playing. It’s really good, and I can’t wait to hear it. Honestly. Dunno what else to say except can’t wait till your back. Sherlock’s driving everyone mad. He set off a smoke bomb in the garden and the whole place smelled like sour eggs. He says it’s improving, but of course he had a clothespin on his nose and didn’t have to suffer with the rest of us. I can’t believe the neighbors haven’t complained._

_I’m still working at the shop for your da, but I’ve actually found these free lectures I can go to on criminology at night, so I do. I’m really pleased with them. Might have to actually go to school and isn’t that scary?_

_Hope to hear more of the song soon,_

_Greg_

**

“Gregory! Another letter!”

Greg came tramping down the stairs. “Thanks, Violet.”

Violet gave him a knowing smile. “He’ll be coming home soon. End of term, you know.”

Greg smiled. “I know. But he’ll be busy. Working and stuff.”

“Yes, we’re so proud of Mycie getting that job at the House of Parliament. Isn’t it lovely?”

“It’s really cool, yeah. Maybe I’ll go tour and see him one day,” Greg said. “Think I should bring Sherlock?”

“Really, Gregory, don’t threaten me so,” Violet said, flicking him with the towel. “Mail is on the table, cookies will be ready in just a minute.”

“Yum.” With a smile, Greg sat down, pulling the letter to him to see the latest music Mycroft had sent. Examining the sheets further, it seemed Mycroft had hit a plateau, and with his exams happening had slowed even further, mostly making corrections to the first bits and pieces, scribbling onto the same few pages, over and over again.

Greg frowned, almost seeing Mycroft’s frustration in the way the pencil had pressed to the paper.

“What’s wrong dear?” Violet asked as she took the baking sheets from the oven.

“I...dunno actually,” Greg said, shrugging. “Has Mycroft called lately though?”

“Oh, he called the other day. Spoke to his father about some things.” Violet shook her head. “Siger’s always been better at understanding those two.”

“Yeah, I think he sees things differently,” Greg said, looking up as she set a plate of cookies in front of him.

“Oh, he does, dear. I don’t think those songs of his are all in his head. I’m very sure that they’re real.” Violet smiled. “Careful, they’re hot.”

“If they aren’t in his head, where are they coming from?”

“There are some things I think, Gregory, that we’re not meant to know,” Violet said, sitting down beside him after grabbing her cup of tea. “Even with all the math, with the way it explains the structure of everything around us, I don’t know how these things work. Leaves, shells, beehives, I understand the structure of. But the human brain? Siger’s brain? It would take a far more brilliant mind than mine to understand.” She shook her head and sipped her tea. “I see how things are calculated. I don’t see what makes them what they really are or want to be or how they feel. That’s Siger’s job.”

“What is my job?” Siger asked, wandering in and setting a handful of guitar picks on the table. “Ooh, cookies.”

“Music, dear,” Violet said, pulling the plate away from him as he reached out. “They’ve just come out of the oven. Wait a few minutes.”

Siger pouted, but folded himself into a chair after getting a cup of tea. “Why are you talking about me and my music?” he asked, still watching the cookies as if his gaze could cool them.

“Because I love you,” Violet said with a chuckle. “And because we were talking about Mycroft and his music.”

“Oh, yes. He’s stuck on his song,” Siger said, sneaking his hand out toward the plate. “Wanted to know if I had advice.”

Violet sighed and sipped her tea, not bothering to say anything as Siger stuffed a cookie in his mouth, immediately slurping his tea.

Greg smiled and scooped up the papers. “Gonna head up to my room.”

“All right dear. Tea in an hour,” Violet said pleasantly, before turning to berate Siger as he complained that the cookie had burned his mouth.


	8. Chapter 8

“Family picnic! Today for supper, all of us.” Violet beamed, looking around the breakfast table. “We’ll watch the sunset!” 

Sherlock groaned, slumping so low in his chair he nearly slipped under the table.

“That’s lovely, dear. Can we go to Primrose Hill?” Siger asked, cutting his toast into tiny pieces to feed Sax, whose name had finally stopped changing. 

“Yes, of course.”

“You guys’ll have loads of fun,” Greg said, reaching out for another slice of bacon. “Enjoy.”

“Gregory, didn’t you hear me?” Violet said, frowning. “I said family picnic. For all of us. Siger, stop feeding the cat.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean I’m not family…” Greg said, glancing up at her. “Figured you meant you four.”

Siger shook his head, tossing another bit of toast under the table. “You’re a part of this family now, Greg.”

“I...really?” Greg asked, looking at all four of them.

“Yes, dear. Tell him boys,” Violet ordered.

“You are somewhat tolerable,” Sherlock muttered, nothing but his dark curls and eyes visible as he glared at Greg from below the tabletop. 

Mycroft sipped his tea. “What Sherlock means is that you are a valuable addition to this family, and we appreciate your presence, and especially so, in that you tolerate our ‘quirks’ and ‘eccentricities’.”

“Well put, Mycie.” Siger smiled, and reached over to pat Greg’s hand. “You’ll come to supper.”

Greg bit his lip and nodded. “Okay. Thanks,” he said quietly. “Ah..I think I’m done with breakfast. Gonna head up and shower.”

“No, you’re not. You’re going to-” Sherlock let out a muffled squawk as Mycroft covered his mouth quickly. 

Violet smiled. “I’m heading to the shops later if you need anything, dear.” 

“Thanks, Violet.” Greg gave a hesitant smile and put his plate in the sink, heading up to his room. Just to prove Sherlock wrong, he did head in and take a shower before laying down and closing his eyes with a deep breath. Part of the family, Siger had said. Had smiled at him, accepted him for who he was, what he liked, what he wanted to do. Appreciated him. They all did. Violet took care of him in her overbearing way, shoving food and books at him. Mycroft let him hear the music he composed as they wrote back and forth. Even Sherlock put up with him, using Greg in his experiments when he had no other choice, despite Greg’s refusal to let Sherlock electrocute him. Tears prickled at the corners of his eyes, and Greg bit his lip, forcing the memory of his mother’s words back, away from how he was now. Accepted. Appreciated. 

Happy.

He mumbled it like a mantra to himself, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in his pillow. Family. A proper family. One that almost filled the hole losing his da had left, or at least made it ache less. Accepted. Appreciated.

Loved. 

**

“Mummy!” Sherlock called impatiently from higher up the hill, climbing up on the small viewing platform sign to get as tall as he could. “Now!”

Violet sighed. “Just a minute, dear,” she called back.

Greg chuckled. “What does he want?”

“Oh, he wants me to tell him the height of the different buildings,” Violet said, passing the basket of food to Siger. 

“Does she know them all?” Greg asked, looking after her in awe as she climbed. 

“Yes, she does. She memorized them the first time she came to London,” Mycroft said, retrieving the basket from his father and starting to pass out food. “Cucumber, Gregory?”

“Yeah, that’s great,” Greg said, accepting the sandwich. “Thanks. Don’t like egg really.” 

Mycroft set a plate by Siger, who was watching the other people on the hill with interest, before taking his own. 

“Your mum is brilliant,” Greg said, reaching out for one of the bottles of lemonade and looking up at Mycroft. “See where you get it from.”

Caught biting into his sandwich when Greg looked at him, Mycroft flushed, reaching into the basket and pulling out a napkin as he shook his head, egg salad dripping onto his waistcoat. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle, handing him the bottle as Mycroft fought to choke down the bite of his food. “Sorry,” Greg said. “You all right?”

“Fine,” Mycroft said hoarsely, nodding as he set his sandwich aside to drink. 

“True, anyway,” Greg said, reclining nonchalantly back on his elbows and picking at his sandwich. “Never met anyone else who went to university early like you did. And you’re really good at music, composing and playing.” He kept his head down, pretending not to notice Mycroft was blushing, flushing, whatever it was called. “Glad we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Mycroft asked, hand stilling in the middle of setting his drink down. 

“Yeah, course,” Greg said, smiling. “You didn’t think I was writing to you because I’m a literary genius, did you?” He rolled over and got up, sending a wink toward Mycroft. “I’m gonna go help your mum convince Sherlock to eat. Don’t choke again, all right?” 

He smiled as he went up the hill, feeling Mycroft staring after him, and forcing down the strange desire to skip the whole way up. 

**

“Everyone thinks I’m stupid,” Siger said quietly, as he and Greg closed up for the night a few weeks later. “But I’m not.” 

“Sir?” Greg asked, looking up in confusion, still busy wiping the counter down. 

“I’m not stupid,” Siger repeated, coming over to sit. “I know people think I am. I just...hear the world, instead of see it. Like a wire has been crossed in my brain. I hear music when people talk and hear it when I see things I like. It’s always playing, different tunes, different melodies. But I’m smart.”

Greg frowned. “Yeah. You are smart,” he said. “I think there’s a lot of different types of smart,” he said hesitantly, and sat beside Siger. “Why are you bringing it up?”

“Because I want you to know it’s hard,” Siger said. “Violet is very smart too. But she’s the type of smart that people understand. Always did well with her exams and writing, has her books and her formulas. There’s no formula for what I do. And she doesn’t always understand, but she loves me anyway. Just like I don’t always understand her, but I love her anyway.”

“Well, no. But that’s all right,” Greg said. “Because you do love her still, and you make each other happy.” 

Siger nodded, and carried on. “Mycroft and Sherlock. They’re a little like me, and a lot like Violet. They see things differently. They have wires crossed too,” he said, tapping out a rhythm on the counter. “But they see the logic in things, the secrets that people try to hide, not the music. They can hear the music, sometimes. They used to hear it more often. But Mycroft’s been hurt, and Sherlock is jaded. They’re young. But the world isn’t very nice to people like us. We’re different,” Siger said. “The way we see things is different.” 

“I’m sorry,” Greg said softly, not sure where the conversation was going, but suddenly feeling rather melancholy. 

“Oh, it’s all right,” Siger said with a smile. “You’re different too, Greg. You see things normally. But you still know how to listen, even if you can’t quite hear the music. You still know it’s there.” He patted Greg on the arm. “You’d be good for Mycroft. He does like you. Even if he won’t admit it.”

“I...I don’t think he does though,” Greg said, fighting back an embarrassed flush as he ducked his head, scrubbing at a nonexistent spill on the glass. “I mean, we’re...friends. Think so anyway.” 

“He does. It’s just hard for him to say those things, because you and he hear things differently. You know the music is there and what it means, you just don’t hear it like we do. Mycroft hears it, but doesn’t know what it means,” Siger said. “You two would be good. Your songs are lovely together.”

“Sir?” Greg questioned, wondering just what type of together Siger was insinuating. 

“Let’s go home, Gregory. We don’t want to miss supper,” Siger said with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on Siger, as he's gone into a bit of explaining this chapter, and some may not quite understand:
> 
> Synesthesia is a condition in which one sense (for example, hearing) is simultaneously perceived as if by one or more additional senses such as sight. Another form of synesthesia joins objects such as letters, shapes, numbers or people's names with a sensory perception such as smell, color or flavor. 
> 
> In Siger's case, he has a variation on the condition where he perceives people's emotions and emotional state, through body language he sees, as music. He has songs for each person, music for each name and personality. 
> 
> If you're struggling with this concept, think of a song, and then think of a person that reminds you of that song. You've essentially just done what Siger does automatically, and without prompting. Imagine have that music in your head every time you spoke, saw, or mentioned that person, and you will have Siger's experience. 
> 
> In addition, he is an extremely intelligent, and gentle, man and musician, who cares deeply for his family. He has a diverse background and a optimistic outlook on life. In short, he is a lovely character to write and read, and I plan on keeping him around for a very long time.


	9. Chapter 9

“Greggy! Mycie!”

Greg wandered into the kitchen at Violet’s commanding call. “Need something, Violet?”

“I need you two to run to the shops for me, and pick up a few things for the dinner party tonight.”

“Oh, course,” Greg said. “Got a list?”

Violet nodded, in the process of searching atop the breadbox for a clean sheet of paper. “I will in a moment, dear.”

Greg shrugged and sat down.

“Yes, mummy?” Mycroft asked, coming in.

“She’s making us do a run to the shops,” Greg explained.

“Oh. Of course, Mummy.”

Violet let out a small noise of triumph and then scribbled down a quick list after tugging the paper out from the precariously perched salt and pepper shakers.

Greg took it as she handed it off, and he and Mycroft left with a wave and a quick “Be back for lunch!”

**

“All right, I think we just need-Hey! Lou!” Greg called.

“Hey, Greg!” Lou came over, currently downing a coffee and looking a bit frazzled. “How’re you?”

“I’m good. Job, place to stay, entrance exam at the end of summer when I’m of age. You?” Greg asked, shifting the bags in his hand. “Oh, this is Mycroft.”

Mycroft inclined his head in greeting.

“Nice to meet you. Greg, you’ve done mech work before, right?” Lou asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Remember the bike I had? The Bonneville?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah, Yeah. TI40, dark blue, right? What about?”

“It’s broke, and to be honest, I don’t want it anymore, not when I’m not running around making deliveries like I used to. D’you think you might want to buy it? Cheap, like, since you’d have to fix it up.”

Greg blinked. “Uh..Yeah, how much?” he asked.

“Say two-fifty, since you have to pay parts as well?” Lou asked.

“Yeah.” Greg broke out in a grin. “I can do that. When can I come by and get it?”

“I’ll bring it wherever you’re staying,” Lou replied. “Gimme the address, and I’ll get the money from you then.”

“Sure thing.” Greg gave him the address and a quick hug. “Thanks, Lou. Really.”

“Not a problem, Greg. Bring it by Sunday.”

Greg waved and turned to Mycroft, grinning wide. “This is perfect,” he said excitedly. “Don’t have to worry about traveling around the city now, I’ve got a bike.”

“I’m very happy for you, Gregory. You can fix it I assume?”

“Yeah, I can. Used to work on bikes with my da,” Greg said, starting to walk toward the shops again. “C’mon, let’s get done, and I can stop by the library for a book on that model. Just in case.”

**

“Gregory, Mummy would like to….”

Mycroft trailed off, seeing Greg sitting beside the bike, stripped to his jeans and a thin white shirt, the sleeves long torn away and used for rags.

Greg looked up, wiping the sweat off his forehead and accidentally smearing oil on his skin instead. “What’s that, My?”

“I...Um.” Mycroft cleared his throat, unable to stop looking. “Mummy would like to know if you’re coming in for supper. It’s nearly ready.”

“Oh, yeah. Lemme just clean up a bit and I’ll be in.” Greg reached out for a rag, wiping his hands. “Supper’s nearly ready and she’s nearly finished. Just gotta patch up the seat and then clean her off, give her a polish.” He grinned. “What do you think?”

“You’re-it’s lovely,” Mycroft said, quickly turning on his heels before Greg could see his blush. “I’ll tell mummy.”

“You know, if you wanted to go for a spin,” Greg called after him. “I’d be more than willing to take you!”

He chuckled, wheeling the bike away from the middle of the path as Mycroft fled, then went to wash for supper.

**

“You know, he’d probably say yes if you asked to shag him,” Sherlock said, perched atop the shelves in the music store.

“Sherlock,” Greg said, glaring across at him as he set up the ladder to replace the lightbulb for what seemed like the fourth time that month. “Do I want to know what you’re talking about?”

“I’m talking about Mycroft. And you did already know that,” Sherlock said, looking down on him in interest as Greg climbed.

“All right, how did you even get up there?” Greg asked, shaking his head as he unscrewed the burnt out bulb.

“I climbed. Why don’t you ask him? You obviously don’t find him repulsive, not with the way you constantly stare after him,” Sherlock scoffed.

“I don’t know who could possibly find your brother repulsive,” Greg said. “And I’m done talking to you about this.”

“Sure. But you’re going to ask him.”

“I am not.”

“I give you two weeks,” Sherlock said, easily climbing down from the shelves and dropping to the floor.

“Sherlock! Don’t you dare tell him-oh you little.” Greg let out a little growl and turned his attention back to the light as Sherlock flounced out.

**

“Hey, uh, My?” Greg said, tapping on the other boy's door a few days later. “You busy tomorrow?”

Mycroft looked over from his desk. “Not terribly, no. Why do you ask?”

“Well….I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. I’m heading out for a bit, and I know you don’t really go anywhere but work and home. It’ll be fun,” Greg said, leaning on the frame. “Interested?”

Mycroft hesitated, and then nodded. “That would be nice, Gregory.”

“Great.” Greg grinned. “We’ll head out around noon.”

Mycroft smiled back, unable to help himself. “Lovely.” Greg left and Mycroft turned back to his book, thoroughly distracted.

“He didn’t even wait two weeks,” came a smug voice.

“Enough, Sherlock,” Mycroft snapped as Sherlock walked past the door with a pleased look on his face, rather reminiscent of a cat that has not only caught the canary, but is waiting for the robin to land on the windowsill as well.

“Humph.”

**

Mycroft looked nervously at the bike. “You’re sure about this?”

“Course. C’mon, it won’t bite,” Greg promised straddling the bike. “Hop on. I fixed her myself, nothing safer, nothing more reliable.”

Mycroft hesitated a bit longer and then climbed on, grasping Greg’s biceps as he revved the bike.

Greg chuckled. “Hold onto my waist. Not my shoulders, you’ll fly off that way,” he said.

Swallowing, Mycroft moved his hands, locking them around Greg’s waist.

“Good.”

Greg kicked off, and they were zooming through the streets without another warning, Mycroft’s eyes squeezed shut as London flew by. Greg laughed, heading over past the London Zoo.

“Where are we going?” Mycroft shouted as Greg took a turn a bit too close, bike hopping up on the path.

“Somewhere fun, I promise!” Greg shouted. “Open your eyes and I bet you could guess!”

Mycroft groaned. “I’m not sure I like this!”

“You’ll like it when we’re there!”

Greg slowed, making a turn and roaring past a few tourists.

“Gregory!”

Greg laughed again. “It’s fine, c’mon we’re here,” Greg said, screeching to a stop. Mycroft slowly unlatched his hands, eyes opening hesitantly as Greg patted his arm. “You’re still alive,” he said. “It’s all right.”

Mycroft got off the bike, stumbling unsteadily, and Greg grinned. “I promise I’ll go slow on the way back. Just really wanted to let her go with a heavier weight on her, see how it worked.”

Mycroft brushed off his jacket, standing straight. “Yes. Well.” He looked around. “Gregory, this is Regent’s Park, you cannot leave your motorbike there.”

“Yeah, I can. Know the copper that’ll ticket me, already told him I was leaving it here for a few hours.” Greg unlatched his bag from the back and beckoned Mycroft. “C’mon. It’s starting!”

“What is starting?” Mycroft asked suspiciously, following him anyway.

‘What I brought you here for,” Greg replied. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“I’m terrified of what exactly you-The open air theatre?” Mycroft asked as they walked up to the walls.

“Yeah. C’mon,” Greg encouraged again, pushing open the gate. “I promise, we’ll leave if you don’t like it. Jamal!”

Mycroft eyes widened as someone came out to meet them, tall and broad and dressed in period clothing.

“Greg! Mate, thought you weren’t coming. We’re starting, you coming back?”

“Yeah. This is Mycroft.”

“Nice to meet ya. Le’s go, get seated, yeah?

Greg nodded, tugging Mycroft past the other youth, and down the stairs to the middle section, picking a seat near the front.

“Gregory, honestly, _why_ are we here?” Mycroft asked anxiously.

“We’re gonna see the play. Jamal and his crew are putting it on, and it’s the costume rehearsal today,” Greg said, taking two drinks out of his bag and handing one off, before digging again. “Here. I’ve got lunch.”

Mycroft accepted a sandwich in surprise, wrapped in brown paper and carefully kept shut with a bit of cellotape. “You...you’re taking me to a play?”

“Well, it’s really an opera,” Greg explained, digging in the pack and handing Mycroft an apple. “Figured you’d like it. There’s a really nice cello piece from what Jamal said.”

“You brought me to a opera, with a cello solo, and brought me lunch?” Mycroft said, wetting his lips.

“Yeah.” Greg smiled as there was the sound of a clarinet being tuned backstage, soon joined by two violins and then the familiar tones of the cello. “Ooh, they’re starting. This is always my favorite part.”

Mycroft glanced at the food on his lap, and then simply settled back to listen, deciding to address his concerns later.

**  
“This is the one you were talking about?” Jamal asked, leaning next to Greg, both of them watching Mycroft interact with the musicians and actors at the side of the stage.

“Yeah. Pretty sure that this could be….well, really good,” Greg admitted, smiling softly as he watched Mycroft gesture at the cello, obviously talking about something he’d liked from the score.

“You are so far gone, Greg,” Jamal chuckled. “Have you two…?”

“Nothing. I...I’m not sure if he wants me,” Greg said. “And he seems so icy. So angry. Not right now, but other times....”

Jamal nodded. “Yes, but how can you know he is the one, if you don’t ask, mate?”

Greg shrugged. “Fair enough I suppose.”

Jamal clapped him on the back. “Take him into the gardens. Find a secret corner. Sit and talk. Offer something more than friendship. London can be a lonely place. Show him he doesn’t need to be so lonely.”

**

“Anyway, so then I say, well, I’m not sure about that, but I really don’t think you want to do that, mate,” Greg said, laid out on his back and looking up at Mycroft, the pair hidden away by the rose bushes in the garden. “And he goes, ‘oh yeah?’ And I go yeah, and then I point, and he sees Jamal and the rest and he just pales. Goes completely white. Funniest fucking thing I’ve seen in ages,” Greg chuckled. “But yeah. That’s how I met Jamal and the rest of the troupe. Sometimes play for them, if they’re in a bind. They always said I had a gift for theatre.”

“And am I to assume they’ve also offered you a spot in the troupe?”

“Course,” Greg rolled over onto his belly, propping his head up on his hands. “You know...My. I was wondering something.”

Mycroft wet his lips, suddenly feeling very nervous. “Yes?”

“We’re friends, yeah?” Greg asked.

“Yes. Apparently so,” Mycroft replied. “Why?”

“Because I’m really glad we are. And I’d be really upset if I did anything to mess that up. Because I like you, Mycroft.” Greg sat up. “As more than a friend.”

“M..more?” Mycroft asked.

“More. And I was wondering if you liked me back,” Greg said, leaning close. “Because I’d really like to kiss you right now. But I won’t if it’ll make you uncomfortable.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No. I...do, Gregory. You’re very...kind to me, and despite your...abhorrent driving skills, I think that you’re rather trustworthy, and make a very good friend, but-”

Greg reached out and cupped his face. “My,” he murmured. “Take a breath.”

Mycroft obeyed unconsciously, eyes fixed on Greg’s.

“Do you like me?” Greg asked gently, rubbing his thumb over the curve of Mycroft’s cheek.

Mycroft nodded, turning his face into Greg’s palm, eyes slipping closed.

“Can I kiss you?”

Mycroft nodded again, heart speeding.

“Good,” Greg murmured, leaning in, pressing their lips together, barely touching, barely daring to breathe as he waited for Mycroft to pull away.

“Gregory,” Mycroft whispered.

“Yeah, My?”

“Kiss me properly.”

Greg obeyed, leaning even closer, kissing him tenderly. He drew Mycroft down, and atop his chest, hiding them further in the roses, simply kissing, exploring the way Mycroft responded to his tongue and lips and teeth. He rolled his hips slightly, and Mycroft froze, breath stuttering.

“Sorry,” Greg murmured, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Mycroft’s mouth.

Mycroft swallowed. “It’s fine,” he murmured. “But...shouldn’t we go? Before someone sees us like this?”

“Sure,” Greg replied. “But...you mind if maybe we do this again?”

“Can I think about it?”

Greg nodded, though he was sure the disappointment showed on his face. “Not a problem. It’s a lot, I know.”

“Yes,” Mycroft admitted, sitting up. He straightened his shirt and brushed his hair back into place, nibbling on his already swollen bottom lip.

Greg grinned at him. “You look gorgeous,” he said, standing and offering Mycroft a hand. “Thoroughly debauched and all we did was kiss.”

Mycroft scowled at him, ducking his eyes away.

“Hey,” Greg said, kneeling down again. “It’s a good thing.” He smiled and kissed Mycroft’s cheek. “Ready? It’ll take longer to get home since you want us to go slow.


	10. Chapter 10

“Why does it alway storm when you come?” Greg asked, laughing as he held the door open for Mycroft, the other boy rushing in, umbrella useless in the face of the downpour outside. 

“I’ve heard of spring showers, but a summer monsoon is a bit much,” Mycroft said bitterly, soaked to the skin as he peeled his jacket off, umbrella leaned against the wall. “I was heading home from work and meant to stop and gather a few things from the market. It is, obviously, closed down at the moment.” 

“Here, I’ve got my gym clothes in the back,” Greg said. “They’re clean, you can change into them. Not gonna go today, too nasty outside, it’ll be packed.”

“Thank you, Gregory.” Mycroft said, starting on his shirt as he followed Greg back.

“No bother,” Greg said, digging in his pack and taking out the clean clothes. “Got dry socks somewhere, but nothing to do for dry shoes. You’ll just have to take yours off and hope for the best.” 

Mycroft nodded, and took the clothes, locking himself in the bathroom.

Greg shook his head, taking Mycroft’s jacket and hanging it up in the back on an empty shelf, then headed back to the front desk to finish counting the orders they had going out. It had been a week since the rose gardens, and he and Mycroft hadn’t had any time alone to talk. Frankly, Mycroft hadn’t seemed too interested. Greg had given it up as a bad job, but he secretly hoped that with a little time, Mycroft might bring it up. Might indicate a bit more interest. 

He looked up and smiled as Mycroft came back in, the shirt obviously too big for him, the track trousers obviously too short. “Heya. Better?”

“Much, thank you.” Mycroft took a seat next to him at the counter. “A bit unprofessional however.”

“Eh, no one's gonna bother coming in anyway,” Greg said. “Not in this nonsense.” He smiled as Mycroft tucked his bare feet under the stool. “You want to hear something a little weird?”

Mycroft sent him a puzzled look. “As you will.”

“You have cute feet.”

Mycroft's eyebrows shot up and he flushed. “What?”

“You have cute feet,” Greg repeated. “I said it was weird. I dunno, they're just long and narrow and thin. Your hands are the same. Not dainty or anything, and cute isn't what I'm really looking for but…” He frowned. “Elegant. They're elegant.” 

“I have elegant feet and hands?” Mycroft asked, looking at him for confirmation. 

“Yeah. Exactly.” Greg grinned bashfully. “I guess I've never seen you barefoot, that's why it hit me now.”

“Well, thank you,” Mycroft replied. “Although at the moment, they're so sore, I can barely walk. Oxfords are not kind when wet.”

“I can fix that.”

Greg hopped off the stool, sitting down and taking Mycroft’s left foot in his hands before Mycroft could react. “Jesus, they're like ice,” Greg said. 

“Gregory, what are you-” Mycroft broke off with a startled moan, cheeks going red as Greg pressed his thumbs into the ball of his foot. 

“How's that?” Greg asked with a chuckle, moving his fingers up and down, alternating the pressure. “Feet are important, yeah? All of what you do depends on them really. Walking, running, standing, balance.” 

Mycroft nodded, clearing his throat with great effort. “It is...quite nice, Gregory. But really you don't have to.”

“Oh, I know,” Greg said, switching to the other foot. “I want too though. Just relax. If you want you can come down here and lay on your belly. I can give you a full body.” He smiled at the hesitation on Mycroft's face. “No funny business. Promise.” 

Mycroft shook his head. “Ah...no, if someone comes in, that completely ruins any semblance of professional behavior and I won't have my father's shop gain a sort of reputation.”

Greg snorted. “Fair enough. Rain check though. I've never met someone as stressed as you. You need it.”

“I am not stressed.” 

“Yeah, and I'm George Harrison,” Greg replied. “You are stressed Mycroft. You're ahead in Uni, you have a job, and you might not want to admit it, but it's okay to ask for help. Or to just talk to someone. I'll listen.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

Greg looked up. “I already told you in the rose gardens. I want to be your friend. And if you'd let me, something more.”

He let go of Mycroft’s foot and stood, leaning in to cup his face instead. “I like you, Mycroft. And if you'd let me, I'd like to get to know you. About you.”

He hesitated, and then brushed a kiss over Mycroft’s forehead. “Think I've got those socks in the bag. I'll go check.” 

Greg headed back, cursing inwardly as he searched in the bag, sure that he'd ruined any chance he had.

“Gregory?” came Mycroft’s quiet voice, suddenly close behind him. “I...I'm not sure if I should apologize.”

“You haven't done anything wrong,” Greg said, not turning. “It's fine, Mycroft. Honestly.”

“No, it isn't. Because...I like you, too. And it's taken me a bit to process what's happened because I don't have crushes, I don't have this happen to me. Please...won't you look at me?” 

Greg straightened and turned, shocked as he saw the look of panic on Mycroft’s face. “My?”

“I like you, Gregory, but people don't like me. I'm cold and aloof and people-”

“Don't see the real you. No one who has ever heard you play could think any of that is true.” Greg stepped over and pulled Mycroft close, wrapping him in an embrace. “It's all right,” he murmured. “Whatever this is about, I'll listen to you. Whatever made you think you had to act like that, it shouldn't have happened.”

Mycroft slowly relaxed, going from stiff and tense as Greg just held him. “I...it wasn't one thing. People are always cruel.”

“Not always. But I know what you mean,” Greg said. “C’mon. I'll go put a sign on the door, and then...let’s just sit and talk.”

Mycroft nodded. “I've already locked it. And turned off the lights. It's closing time.”

Greg smiled. “Doing my job?” He released Mycroft and led him over to the corner where he’d once slept every night, and sat on the sofa that had taken his place. He pulled Mycroft down next to him, settling back. 

“I'm not sure where to start,” Mycroft said, relaxing against him. 

“I dunno what to tell you,” Greg said. “Can I ask why you’re so cold to people? I mean, when I first showed up, you seemed practically angry that I was here.”

Mycroft sighed then cleared his throat. “I saw you as a threat. People my age don't normally take well to me.”

“Yeah, but I was nice, wasn't I?”

“Yes, but it did take me some time to realize that when you were being nice you actually...meant it. It hasn't always been the case.” 

“No?” Greg put an arm around him, squeezing his hand gently.

“I'm not sure why I'm telling you this,” Mycroft muttered, but twined their fingers together anyway, albeit a bit hesitantly. “The short of it is that when I was primary school, there was a group of older boys who insisted they were my friends. They weren't of course, and I knew that, but I did want to pretend.”

“Mhm.”

“Well, they somehow discovered I played the cello. And convinced me to bring it to school to show them. So I sat down and played a small concert. And after...” Mycroft faltered.

“After?” Greg said quietly, squeezing his hand again.

“After, they ridiculed me. Told me I was terrible and they...broke my bow. And attempted to break my cello, only I managed to escape them with it, after they punched me. I went home with no bow, a blackened eye and a great deal less faith in humanity.”

“I'm sorry that happened.” Greg kissed the top of his head and Mycroft turned to look at him. 

“Are you?” 

“Of course. That was wrong and mean. Is that why you got so angry when I heard you playing?”

“I expect nothing less than ridicule from anyone but family, and I've stopped playing publicly,” Mycroft said. “That wasn't the only incident, and I've just...given up.”

“You shouldn't do that. Stop playing for people if it's something you enjoyed.”

“What I shouldn't do and what I actually do are two very different things.” 

“Yeah, they are. And that's your choice. But if you're comfortable with it, I'd like to hear you play the song you kept sending me when you were in Uni.”

“I fear I'm stuck. The notes cannot seem to order themselves in my head.”

“Have you considered just playing and see what happens when you get there?”

“No. But I suppose I could try.” 

“Never know until you do.” Greg smiled at him. “Hi,” he said quietly after a moments silence. “How’re you?” 

“Surprisingly, I feel much more relaxed than I have in quite a while.” Mycroft raised up, and pressed hesitant lips to Greg’s. “Gregory, may I ask a question?”

“Course.”

“You enjoy kissing me, that much is apparent. But...do you expect more?”

Greg looked at him carefully. “I think a better question is do you expect me to?” 

“You are obviously more experienced. So...yes, I am a bit wary.”

“I'm not gonna push you,” Greg said. “And I'm not going to expect sex, or anything else from you. And if we did have sex, it would be when we're both comfortable with it. I've had sex before, with a few girls and one man. I'm not ashamed to admit I've gotten around a bit. But that doesn't matter, yeah? It's not about them, or what I've done, it's about us, together.” Greg paused and squeezed Mycroft's hand. “And you being a virgin, which is what I'm guessing since you're asking that, doesn't matter. If you never wanted to do anything I'd be fine.”

“Truly?”

“Yeah. Although, I wouldn't mind some more kissing,” Greg chuckled. “But that's up to you.”

Mycroft smiled. “I could be persuaded. If you agreed to something.”

“What's that?” 

Mycroft shifted anxiously. “Will you take me on the bike somewhere? Just you and me?”

“That it? Of course.” Greg smiled. “I’d love to.”

“You will drive slowly, and safely,” Mycroft said sternly, shifting on the sofa so that he was straddling Greg’s lap, a bit unsure of where to put his hands.

“Precious cargo on board, I'd have to,” Greg teased, setting one hand on Mycroft’s lower back. 

Mycroft smiled. “Good.” He leaned in, kissing Greg carefully.

Greg smiled. “I really like this reward.”

Mycroft chuckled, and went in for another.

**

“There you two are!”

Mycroft immediately hid his face by scrubbing at it with the towel his mother offered. 

“Yeah, got caught by the rain,” Greg lied, accepting his own. “Stayed at the shop a bit to try and wait it out, but it didn't seem to be stopping.”

Violet tutted. “Well, I'm glad you're back safe. Go get dried up for supper and changed.” 

Mycroft and Greg left, only to walk past Sherlock who snorted. “Told you you wouldn't last.”

“Piss off, Sherlock.”


	11. Chapter 11

Greg grinned as Mycroft tapped on his door and stepped in, shutting it behind him. “Hey.”

“I need to get away,” Mycroft said, crossing the room and plopping down on the side of Greg’s bed. He rubbed at his eyes, before reconsidering and switching to his temples.

“What's wrong?” Greg leaned over, kissing Mycroft’s shoulder. 

“Sherlock is being a brat, mummy is locked in her office editing, and father is in the garden doing something screeching with those tiresome green violins,” Mycroft replied. 

“Well, I do owe you a bike ride. It's Sunday and it's still early. Let's go out of the city,” Greg said.

“Out of the city?”

“Yeah. I know a great place for another picnic. Interested?”

Mycroft nodded and leaned against him for a moment. “Should I go pack a bag?”

“Just find a blanket, and make sure to grab yourself a jacket. I'll go make up a basket.” Greg pecked him in the cheek. “We’ll leave in thirty. I'll write a note for your mum.”

** 

“This is very nice,” Mycroft said, carding his fingers through Greg’s hair.

Greg gave a pleased hum, eyes shut against the bright sun. “Used to come out here with my Da. He loved the planes.” 

“It's peaceful, despite the noise,” Mycroft murmured as a plane flew far up overhead, the tall grass around them rustling. 

“Used to come here whenever I missed him and I could borrow a bike,” Greg explained, squinting up at him with a smile. 

“I'm honored you're sharing this with me.” Mycroft dropped his head down and kissed Greg’s forehead.

“Mm, little lower?” Greg asked, tilting his head up for a kiss. 

Mycroft smiled and pecked him on the lips. “I've grown quite fond of kissing you.”

“It's great,” Greg agreed. “I like your lips.”

With a chuckle, Mycroft went back to carding his hands through Greg’s hair. Greg yawned and threw his arm over his eyes, drifting off to the sound of the wind. 

**

“May I ask a question?” 

“Mm?” Greg stirred, realizing he'd been dozing, body loose and warm in the afternoon sun. 

“I want to ask a question.” 

“Go on,” Greg yawned, sitting up.

Mycroft hesitated. “Are we...well...boyfriends?” 

“Well, if you’d like to be, sure,” Greg said, looking at him closely. “You all right? You're not going to panic on me, are you?” 

Mycroft shook his head. “No. I accepted my homosexuality at a young age, I just wanted to...well.” He fidgeted, looking down at his hands. 

“Hey.” Greg reached out and covered his hands with his own. “Just ask, My.”

“Are we exclusive?” Mycroft murmured. “I believe that is the term, but I’m not used to this, I don't do these things. I don't know what I'm doing, and I don't know what to expect or what you'll want to do, and-” 

Greg leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “Stop. Breathe. I told you before I'm not going to push you. Into sex or anything else. If you want to be exclusive, then we are. And I won't be shagging anyone else, trust me.” He smiled. “You need someone to talk to, My. Someone who might understand you that isn't me. Maybe you should think about talking to your da.”

“You want me to ask my father for advice on sexual intercourse?” Mycroft asked, pulling back horrified. 

Greg grinned. “Relax.” He laughed. “It was just a suggestion. And better him than your mother.” 

Mycroft's look of horror deepened, and he shoved Greg. “I may be sick.”

Greg laughed and shoved him back. “It's just a suggestion!”

Mycroft glared and then lunged, knocking Greg onto his back. “Don't you ever suggest such a thing again, Gregory Lestrade.” 

“How ya gonna make me?” Greg taunted and rolled them over, pinning Mycroft’s hands to the ground. 

“I'll refuse to ever kiss you again,” Mycroft said, eyes narrowed as he struggled. “Never.”

Greg gasped in mock horror, grip loosening. “No!” 

“Yes!” Mycroft smirked and then threw Greg off him, scrambling atop. “Submit!”

“Ooh, that's what you're into then?” Greg teased, laughing when Mycroft blushed. “Fine! I submit, I'm yours.” 

Mycroft smiled. “Good.” He freed Greg’s hands so that he could lean down, kissing him gently, nipping at his bottom lip. “I may ask my father for advice about...relationships, but there is someone else I'd rather ask about sexual intercourse. Nerves or not,” he murmured and then rocked his hips slightly, pointedly against Greg’s.

Greg bit back a surprised moan. “Uh...you want me to answer some questions now then?”

“Maybe. I'm not quite sure yet,” Mycroft said, kissing the side of Greg’s throat. “Perhaps just a…”

“Bit of a snog?” Greg finished for him, running his hand over Mycroft’s side, creeping closer to his arse.

“Yes.”

“Probably can't for very long, I'll come in my trousers,” Greg muttered. “Don't know if you realize just how much I want you.” 

“Tell me?”

“So much. My, tell me if you want me to stop anything, all right?” Greg asked. “Only as far as you want. Understand?”

Mycroft nodded and claimed Greg’s lips as Greg rolled them over, sliding his hands underneath Mycroft’s shirt after he untucked it.

Mycroft stiffened slightly as Greg’s palm brushed over the curve of his belly, but he shook his head as Greg went to withdraw. “It's all right. Keep going.” 

“If you're sure,” Greg murmured and kissed him again, starting to unbutton Mycroft’s shirt. “Your skin is so soft.”

“And pale, Unlike yours, which I assume sees the light of day nearly every sunny day.”

Greg grinned as Mycroft’s hand slid up his side, pushing his shirt up. “You're not wrong. I mean, at least I tan and don't burn. Another thing to thank my da for, yeah? Swarthy French pirate skin.”

“Oh, you're a pirate now?” Mycroft chuckled as Greg rose up, tugging his shirt off.

“I could be,” Greg replied. “Here to plunder the treasure, if you wanted.”

Mycroft let out an undignified snort. “How much of your self control did it take to not say ‘plunder the booty’?” 

“All of it,” Greg grinned, leaning down for a kiss. 

“You're-Mmm, never mind,” Mycroft murmured, wrapping his arms around Greg’s neck, kissing him back. 

“Terrible? I know,” Greg whispered back, kissing a line down his throat. “Just relax,” he murmured. “Can I leave marks?”

Mycroft’s breath caught and he nodded. “Not...not where they can be seen.”

“All right.”

Greg dropped his head a bit further and bit. 

Mycroft arched up in surprise, a small whimper escaping him. 

Greg lapped over the mark and then pulled away with a pleased smirk. “You like that, yeah? Want to be able to see them later when you wank?”

“Gregory!” Mycroft stammered, flushing a deep red.

“What?” Greg laughed. “You're not saying you don't get yourself off, do you?” 

“Not...well...hardly...I don't think of you while I do!” Mycroft blurted. “It would be obscene. Wrong to, to betray your confidence that way.”

Greg gave a slow smile, and leaned in. “Yeah? Cause I think it would be really, really hot,” he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Mycroft’s lips. “Besides. I've thought of you.”

Mycroft's eyes went wide, a tiny breath of surprise escaping him. “Me?”

“Yeah. You surprised?” Greg asked, letting his hand wander over Mycroft’s stomach, to his side, ghosting down over his cock. 

“What...ahem..”

“What did I think about?” Greg asked and Mycroft nodded, still flushed. “Oh, that’s easy,” he murmured. “Thought of how you’d look in my bed, spread out for me, touching yourself, or soaking wet after a shower, wrapped in just a towel. Loved it when you ran into the shop all wet, got to see how that suit clung to you.” 

Mycroft bit back a whimper as Greg stroked over his cock. 

“Can I touch you like this?” Greg asked. “Is it okay?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can I take you out?” Greg asked, running his thumb over the head of Mycroft’s cock where was pushing against his trousers, and pressed down. Mycroft gasped and pushed his hand away, shaking his head. 

Greg sat up. “You all right?”

Mycroft nodded, blinking rapidly as he breathed through his nose, eyes closed. 

“Oh,” Greg said, grinning in sudden understanding. “Were you about to come in your pants?”

“Yes,” Mycroft admitted through gritted teeth. 

“That’s very, very sexy.” Greg laid back down, and kissed his cheek. “You know, if you did want, I could still give you a hand with that.” 

Mycroft hesitantly shook his head. “No. Not yet.” 

“All right. Mind if I just lay here then?” Greg asked. He reached out and grabbed his shirt, laying it over his eyes as he pillowed his head on Mycroft’s stomach. 

“You’re not disappointed?” Mycroft asked curiously. 

“I am, but you’re not comfortable. Not gonna force it,” Greg said, smiling. “I’ll wait if you want me too, My. You’re the only person I’ve found that I’m interested in, that likes me back the same way, in a long time.” 

“But…”

“But?” 

“You’re not upset.”

“Nope.” 

“You’re aroused though.”

“Oh yeah. Have you seen yourself?” 

Mycroft made a small disbelieving sound. “Yes, I have.”

“Then you understand why I’m hard as rock’,” Greg chuckled. “‘S all right though. It’ll go away in a bit.”

“What if….you...well. I’m not quite sure how to ask,” Mycroft murmured anxiously. “But together?”

With an inquisitive noise, Greg sat up, taking his shirt away from his eyes. “Together?”

“I want to see you. And I would like to come, but not in my trousers,” Mycroft said, wetting his lips as he avoided Greg’s gaze, cheeks flushed. “So if we...together.”

“You want to watch me wank?” Greg asked, with a small grin

“If you’re amicable,” Mycroft muttered. “Don’t feel obliged.” 

“Obliged? I’m delighted,” Greg chuckled. “Hey,” he said a bit softer. “My, look at me.” 

Mycroft hesitantly looked up. 

“If you want to, we will. If you don’t, we won’t do anything, and I’m never gonna make you do anything. Got it? But if you do, I’d gladly show you a few things.” 

Mycroft nodded and then surged forward, kissing Greg desperately. Greg laughed, laying back and letting Mycroft take control, kissing back until the other boy pulled away breathless. “All right?” Greg grinned. 

“More than.” Mycroft rocked his hips gently. “You can still show me, right? 

“Love to,” Greg said, kissing his neck. “Here, budge up and sit back.”

Mycroft obeyed and Greg smiled at him, undoing his flies teasingly. “Ready for the ‘big’ reveal?” he asked, tongue in cheek. 

“That’s two marks against you now,” Mycroft said, though his gaze was pinned on Greg’s hands as he tugged his zipper down. 

“This could make up for it,” Greg said, taking himself out and giving a lazy stroke. “Thoughts?”

“You have a lovely curve,” Mycroft said, wetting his lip. “I’m rather straight myself.”

“Oh c’mon, how’d you say that with a straight face?” Greg chuckled, watching him as his hand slowly moved up and down his shaft. “You want to join?” 

Mycroft nodded, and leaned back, slowly tugging his trousers open and hesitantly pulling out his cock. 

“Very nice,” Greg praised, smiling as Mycroft’s cheeks tinged red again. “You know, you blush easy, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” Mycroft asked, hand stilling as he lifted his eyes to meet Greg’s. 

“If you like,” Greg replied. “That sounds like something you want to be called? I like it.” 

“It’s...good,” Mycroft said, cock twitching as he watched Greg. “I’m simply not used to pet names from anyone other than family. And frankly I detest ‘Mycie’.”

“Then sweetheart it is, and you’ll just have to get used to it,” Greg said, smiling. 

Mycroft hid his smile. “If you insist. You’re very hard.”

“You’re very hot,” Greg replied. “I like being the person to see you like this.”

“Watching you...it’s very nice,” Mycroft said, giving himself a stroke. 

“Just nice?”

“Hot. Sexy. Arousing.”

“That’s better,” Greg chuckled breathlessly. “What are you thinking about?’

“Just...watching you. Wondering...what your hand would feel like.”

“It’s yours if you want,” Greg replied. “Right now, I’m just thinking how gorgeous you are right now. And how fuckin’ sexy you are. Can’t believe you want me. You’re brilliant.” Mycroft let out a quiet moan, eyes fluttering shut though he was obviously fighting it as his hand moved faster. 

“Thought you were watching me?” Greg asked, moving his hand to match Mycroft’s pace. “C’mon love. Lemme see you come. Wanna watch you...God...fall apart.”

Mycroft shuddered at the absolute lust in Greg’s voice, and then suddenly came, spilling over his hand with a small cry. 

“Gorgeous,” Greg said, twisting his hand, closing his eyes and working himself until he came with a low moan. “Jesus.” He collapsed back, come dripping onto his stomach. “Good thing I’ve got a rag with me to clean us up.”

Mycroft laid back without a word, scooting up beside him. “Was that all right?” he finally whispered. 

“All right? That was bloody brilliant!” Greg turned his head, going in for a kiss. 

Mycroft moaned in surprise, but surrendered to it, both of them simply laying out in the warm sun for another long while.


	12. Chapter 12

“Hey. You busy?” Greg asked quietly, leaning against Mycroft’s doorframe. 

“I had meant to work on this report, but it can wait. I’ve nearly finished anyhow,” Mycroft said, holding out his hand to Greg. “Why do you ask?” 

“Was hoping to spend some quality time with you,” Greg replied, coming in and taking his hand, leaning down for a kiss. 

“We certainly could.” 

“Good.” Greg pulled away and shut Mycroft’s door, laying on his bed. “C’mere.”

Mycroft gave him a slightly shy smile, and tucked his papers away, heading over. Greg smiled and tucked him against his chest, kissing him gently. “How was the all important job today?”

“Good. I was offered a position once I graduate actually,” Mycroft murmured, tucking his head against Greg’s chest. “Nothing truly official, but it would help me attain what I wish to in the future.”

“Not official?” 

“The offer.” Mycroft rolled over so they were spooning, pulling Greg’s arm over him. “What are you doing tonight?” 

“Staying in here for as long as you want me, then headed back to mine for some sleep.”

“You could sleep in here,” Mycroft suggested. “If you wanted.”

“That might be nice. You’ll have to wake me up early so we don’t give Sherlock the fright of a lifetime though,” Greg teased. “Wouldn’t want the poor lad scarred.”

Mycroft harrumphed. “Sherlock ought be scarred if he insists on bursting into my room the way he does.” 

“Meanie.” Greg laughed, pressing a kiss to the back of Mycroft’s neck. “But all the same, unless you’d like to answer why I’m in your bed when your parents ask.”

“They’re heading off to the cottage with Sherlock soon,” Mycroft murmured. “We’ll….have the house to our own.”

“Yeah, your da mentioned something about that. It’s in a few weeks, isn't it?” 

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. I’m staying here for work.”

“And I’m staying here and running the shop.” Greg gave a thoughtful hum and kissed Mycroft’s neck again. “Reason you’re bringing it up?”

“Not really. Good night, Gregory,” Mycroft replied cautiously, and Greg wisely let it go. 

“Night, My.” 

 

**

“Now, you two, there’s loads of meals in the freezer, we’ll only be gone about a week, don’t do anything rash, no parties, no more than two people over and do not let any of those dreadful salesmen onto my carpets,” Violet tittered, throwing a few last minute things into her bag.

“Yes, mummy,” Mycroft said, leaning against the counter as he sipped some water. 

“We’re well able to take care of ourselves,” Greg said, holding out her glasses as she looked around frantically. “You just enjoy your trip, yeah?”

“You’re such as dear, Gregory, thank you,” Violet said. She took the glasses from him, and tucked them in her bag. “What am I forgetting?”

“Have you remembered to bring Sherlock?” Mycroft asked dryly. 

“Oh! Of course, he’s in the car waiting.”

“We’ll be fine, Violet. Go. Enjoy. Relax,” Greg chuckled, leading her out. “You’ve got everything you’ll need.” 

“Fine, fine, I’m going.” 

Mycroft waited in the kitchen as he heard the cab pull away, and the front door shut. Greg reappeared in the doorway, and Mycroft was on him, kissing him desperately. 

“Whoa,” Greg said breathlessly, pulling away after a few moments. “What’s that then?”

“I haven’t been able to have you to myself all week. We’ve barely been able to touch all month,” Mycroft muttered, nipping at his throat. “I want you. We’re alone.”

“Yeah, and everyone’s gonna be gone for a week.” Greg pried Mycroft away, holding him by the shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere, love. Promise. Relax. Breathe. Do you trust me?” he asked quietly, meeting his gaze. 

Mycroft nodded and looked away, shrugging Greg’s hands off. “I apologize. Obviously, if you don’t want to sleep with me, I understand. I’m not-”

“Hey. That’s enough,” Greg said gently, catching his hand again. “You know that I want you. You know how you make me feel. If you’re gonna get upset because I’m not throwing you into my bed the second your parents leave, then we need to talk about it. I don’t want this to be something we rush and then you or I end up regretting because it wasn’t good or someone got hurt. Do you even know what to do?”

“I’d assumed you would inform me,” Mycroft said frostily, pulling his hand away. “Instead of lording your experience over my head.” 

“Are we gonna fight about this?” Greg asked, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. 

“We may as well, considering we obviously won’t be doing anything else!” Mycroft snapped. 

“Well, actually, I’d planned to sit down and have lunch with you,” Greg said. “But if you’d rather fight about why I’m not in the process of fucking you blind, then sure, let’s get on with it. Do you have lube?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“Do you know if I’m clean? You’re smart, you know what’s happened- is happening in America,” Greg said. “What’s happening here! You know this is dangerous. Do you have condoms?” 

“No, I didn’t because I’d assumed-”

“Right, you’d assumed. And you know what? I have got both those things, because I figured you’d want to do this with me at some point, and I wanted to do this with you. You’re safe with me. But you might not be safe with someone else,” Greg said. “So for someone so smart, you’re acting more than a bit stupid.”

Mycroft recoiled and stepped back, turning on his heel and fleeing. 

Greg flinched at the sound of a door slamming, and sighed, sinking down to sit in one of the kitchen chairs. “Shit.”

**

Greg knocked on Mycroft’s door a few hours later, two mugs of tea with him. “My? Brought a peace offering.” 

“If you’ve come to berate my stupidity further, I don’t wish to hear it,” Mycroft said coldly, not bothering to turn to look at him. 

Greg stepped in and set the mug down, perching on the edge of Mycroft’s desk with his own. “You know I love you, right?” he asked simply. 

Mycroft’s pen scratched to a stop.

“Just figured you should know,” Greg said. “I want you around for a really, really long time to come. And if that means you’re pissed at me because I make sure you take care of yourself, well, I’m okay with that. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll be in mine, yeah?” He leaned over, pressing a kiss to the top of Mycroft’s head.


	13. Chapter 13

Mycroft crept in late that night, hesitating at the doorway.

Greg had woken up when the door had pushed open, and he rolled over to face him. When Mycroft didn’t move, he held out his hand. “Come to bed, love,” he murmured sleepily.

Mycroft swallowed hard and moved over to him, curling up against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“‘S okay,” Greg said. “I get it.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mm?”

“That you….”

“Love you? Yeah,” Greg yawned. “Sleep, sweetheart. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Mycroft nodded and Greg dropped off again, unable to hear when Mycroft let out a quiet sigh, tucking himself closer to Greg with an even quieter, “I love you as well.”

 

**

Greg stirred the next morning, yawning as he turned over, smiling in confusion as he found Mycroft was already awake, and watching him. “Hi.”

“Good morning, Gregory.”

Greg moved closer, and nudged his head up, pressing a kiss to Mycroft’s throat. “Morning.”

Mycroft let out a small sound, shivering as he felt the drag of Greg’s teeth over his throat. “Gregory,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Greg asked, kissing the small mark he’d left. “It’ll go away in a bit. Just a little red, sweetheart.”

“Not that,” Mycroft said, still just as quiet. “Why did you say it?”

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

“Cause it’s true,” Greg said. “I do.”

“But why?”

“Why?” Greg pulled back and looked at him carefully. “Well...we can start with the fact that you’re just fucking beautiful. But there’s more. You’re brilliant, the smartest person I know. And you make me smile, make me want to share everything with you. When you play your music, I feel like the whole world makes sense, and I want to write my own music for you. I want to sing for you, make you smile anyway I can. I want to tell you first when something interesting happens at the shop, or if I’m confused about something, you're the one I wanna ask and talk about it with. I love you. And more importantly, I love being with you.”

Mycroft hesitated and then surged forward, kissing him and pressing as close as he could get, heedless of morning breath.

Greg moaned against him, nibbling his bottom lip as he guided Mycroft down onto his back, leaning over him and propped up on one arm. “Gorgeous,” he breathed, kissing his way down Mycroft’s throat, unbuttoning his shirt and kissing his chest. “You always wear so many clothes.”

Mycroft squirmed under his touch, blushing at the gentle tease. “Better take them off then.”

“All of them?” Greg asked, glancing up at him.

“Yes, Gregory. All-” Mycroft broke off with an undignified squeak and arched up as Greg took his nipple between his lips.

“Sensitive,” Greg murmured, rubbing the other with his thumb. Mycroft nodded breathlessly. “You want me to play with these a little?”

“Yes. Yes, don’t stop,” Mycroft muttered, rocking his hips up in search of some friction.

Greg chuckled and slotted a thigh between his legs, groaning as he felt Mycroft’s cock harden against him. “You really like that, don’t you?”

Mycroft just moaned as Greg’s hand skidded over his chest teasingly.

“Sound so hot,” Greg muttered, kissing his way over Mycroft’s sternum and down to his stomach, nosing at the line of light ginger hair that led down.

“Gregory, please?” Mycroft panted. “I-I need.”

“I know.” Greg looked up at him and then rested his hands on the ties of Mycroft’s pajama bottoms, asking silently. Mycroft nodded, heart pounding and Greg untied them slowly,dragging them down with what could almost be reverence. “Did I tell you how nice your cock is the other time?” he asked, smiling, wetting his lips.

Mycroft shook his head.

“It’s a nice size. Pretty.”

Mycroft blushed his customary brilliant red. “Pretty?” he echoed.

“I think so. Nothing wrong with that,” Greg said. “Just makes me want to get my mouth on it.”

Mycroft’s eyes went wide and he sank back on the bed as Greg bent his head, giving a teasing lick up his length. “Gregory!”

“Yeah?”

“It’s...I…’s good,” Mycroft managed weakly.

“I know. Lemme make it better, love,” Greg murmured, and went to work, teasing over the head, not even taking Mycroft into his mouth until the other boy was practically writhing against the bed, small, whimpered pleas falling from his lips.

Mycroft shuddered, body tensing as he came almost immediately. “Gregory!” he choked out, hands tightly twisted in the sheets.

Greg worked him through and then raised up, licking his lips with a smirk. “Yeah?”

Mycroft opened dazed eyes. “You swallowed?”

“Mhm.” Greg leaned down and gave him a gentle kiss, slipping his tongue against Mycroft’s lips teasingly. “Tastes good.”

“But..?”

“I know. It’s not safe,” Greg said. “But you haven’t been with anyone.” He kissed Mycroft again.

“Just you,” Mycroft murmured. “Can I?” He pressed his leg between Greg’s, blushing again.

“Do you want to?” Greg asked. “Don’t have to.”

“I want to try,” Mycroft said. “If you don’t want-”

“God no. I want,” Greg chuckled. He rolled onto his back, tugging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it away. “You wanna take the rest off?”

Mycroft nodded and knelt beside him, reaching out for his boxers. He pulled them down, pushing them to the end of the bed, wetting his lips as he looked at Greg’s cock.

Greg smiled, and wrapped a hand around his length, giving himself a slow stroke. “What do you want to try?” he asked.

“Hands? Mycroft said hesitantly. “And maybe my mouth.”

Greg nodded and rolled over, reaching for the drawer. He tugged out a condom, throwing it on the bed. “I’ll get checked again soon,” he said quietly. “But until I do, we’re gonna be careful, all right?”

Mycroft nodded and shifted to lay beside him, reaching out and taking his cock carefully in hand.

“All right?” Greg murmured, reaching out and running his hand through Mycroft’s hair.

Mycroft nodded again, and leaned forward to kiss him gently as he began to stroke.

“Good. Little tighter, love,” Greg breathed, closing his eyes with a small moan.

“You’re so hard. Hot,” Mycroft murmured.

“For you,” Greg said. “It’s all for you, love.”

“What part of me do you like best?” Mycroft whispered, blushing. “You said you think about me. When you get off alone. What about me?”

“All of you. Imagining you touching me, imagining you and how you’d sound when I took you.” Greg groaned. “I know what your hands can do for music. Can’t...can’t even imagine what they’d feel like taking me. Do you want that?”

“To take you?” Mycroft asked.“You want me to fuck you?”

‘Why not?” Greg let out a breathless chuckle. “You could.”

“You really want that?” Mycroft asked incredulously, cock twitching in a valiant, if pointless effort to show his interest.

“God yeah, My. It’s good, so good. Feel so full, feel like your whole body is-unh- just,” Greg groaned, eyes opening slowly. “Every second of it will be good when I take you. I’ll make you feel so good, love.”

Mycroft’s breath hitched as his grip tightened. Greg groaned, and gripped the sheets, pressing his hips into Mycroft’s touch. “My, if you want your mouth on me, you’re gonna have to take a minute or do it now, otherwise I’m gonna come, love. You make me feel so good.”

“We have time, right?” Mycroft said, speeding his hand.

“Y...yeah. We’ve got time.” Greg moaned, and then came, covering Mycroft’s hand. “Fuck!”

Mycroft kept stroking till Greg pulled his hand gently away, bringing it to his mouth, cleaning it off.

“ _Gregory,_ ” Mycroft breathed, eyes wide as Greg’s tongue ran over his palm.

Greg just smiled and took the tips of two fingers into his mouth, sucking on them gently.


	14. Chapter 14

“Hold on a mo’.” Greg turned and pointed his spatula at Mycroft. “You.”

“Me?” Mycroft asked, sipping a glass of juice at the table.

“What you said earlier.” Greg raised his eyebrows. “Why were you so surprised that I liked getting fucked?”

Mycroft immediately blushed, and began to stammer. “Well, I’ve just heard that- and generally, only one partner will ever-and it doesn’t seem as if it would be very enjoyable-not that I don’t want you, just that-if you wanted me, I’d be more than willing to be the, ah, receiving party if it meant you would enjoy yourself more.”

“Jesus Christ.” Greg turned off the stove and pushed the pan off the burner, coming over and sitting across from him at the table. “Mycroft. Do you even want me to fuck you?”

Mycroft swallowed and took a breath. “Yes, I do.”

“All right. Why?” Greg asked, staring him down.

“I want to know what it feels like to have you inside me, and I want to give you the pleasure of being inside me. I want to be that close to you,” Mycroft said, shifting anxiously in his chair. “I...I want to feel everything with you. Want you to be my first in every way. You see me,” he whispered. “You’re not cruel, you’re kind and understanding, and you listen to me…” Mycroft trailed off, looking down at his hands, refusing to look at Greg. “You’d stop if I’d wanted. You’d leave me alone if I asked.”

Greg blinked, and then sat back. “Of course I would.”

“I trust you with myself,” Mycroft murmured.

“My,” Greg said softly. “Look at me.” He reached out and touched Mycroft’s hand. “We don't have to have sex that way.”

“When I said I want everything with you, I meant it,” Mycroft murmured. “I want this too.”

“All right. Well, what if the first time, you take me? You seemed interested in that.”

Mycroft finally looked up and nodded hesitantly. “That would be acceptable.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about more tonight, all right?” Greg leaned over the table and brushed a kiss across Mycroft’s forehead. “I love you.” Mycroft nodded again, and Greg got up, pulling the pan back onto the burner. “Breakfast be ready soon, then I’m gonna go to the shop and open up.”

 

**

Greg whistled Siger’s ‘Green’ tune as he closed up, and then closed out the cash register. He brought the bills into the back, locking them in the small hidden safe and grabbing his bag. He went outside, smiling in the rusty red rays of the setting sun as he locked up.

“Gregory?”

“Hey, sweetheart. What's going on?” Greg asked, looking over and smiling at Mycroft. “Wow. You're wearing jeans.”

Mycroft ducked his head, brushing his cardigan off. “Yes, well. I do have some clothing other than suits.”

“They look good. Did you come to walk me home?” Greg asked, tucking the key away and collapsing the awning. He locked it in place and then walked over to Mycroft, squeezing his hand for a quick minute. “You all right?” he asked, seeing a flicker of distress go through Mycroft’s eyes.

“You aren't upset with me, are you?” Mycroft blurted out suddenly.

“What? No, why?” Greg asked, chuckling. “Do I look upset?”

“It's just that earlier, the conversation we had this morning, and then last night, and I realize I wasn't entirely truthful-”

Greg took Mycroft’s hand, cutting him off with a gentle squeeze. “You explained. I wasn't mad then, and I'm not mad now. I understand. And before you get mad, this is all pretty new to me.”

“But, you've-”

“Had crap relationships. Or a quick shag. I've never had anyone that I love like this. Especially that might love me back.” Greg squeezed his hand again. “So. I've never had anything like this. And it's gonna be okay, right? If we mess up a little. I mean, if I mess up, you're not gonna drop me right away. You'll try to fix it with me?”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, Gregory.”

Greg smiled. “All right then.” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand again and then let it go. “C’mon. Casserole for dinner, right?”

**

“The mathematics of biological criminology,” Greg read, “is a both simple and complex study. Simple, in that time does most of the work for us, in elimination of-”

“You know, if you're going to read my mother’s book, you could at least do it silently,” Mycroft said, turning the page of his own volume. He glanced at Greg. “God knows I've heard it enough already.”

“But have you read it?” Greg asked, setting it aside and rolling onto his stomach, facing Mycroft on the sofa.

“I have. As has Sherlock.”

“Has he? What does he think of it?”

Greg pushed himself up to hands and knees from the carpet, slowly slinking his way across the room, prowling over with a smirk.

Mycroft wet his lips as he watched. “He thinks that within only a few years, science will outstrip commonplace human understanding. I find myself in agreement . What are you doing, Gregory?”

“What do you think?” Greg gave him a slow smile, kneeling up and running his hands over Mycroft’s calves. “I really do like these jeans on you.”

Mycroft wet his lips again, spreading his legs slightly. “Do you?”

“I do. In fact I love it.” Greg let his fingers dance over Mycroft’s thighs, ghosting over his covered cock. “D’you wanna do something tonight, or just keep reading?”

“Reading is something.”

“Not the something I had in mind.”

“What do you have in mind?”

Greg smiled. “Well, depends. I know we talked about it earlier, but if you wanted to take me, I'd be willing. Or anything else would be fine too.” He dropped his head, pressing his lips to the sudden bulge in Mycroft’s trousers. “I'm gonna go shower. If you want to join…..”

He smiled up at Mycroft and stood, leaving after a beckoning gesture.

Mycroft sat, stunned for a few moments, then went and locked the doors, shutting the lights off around the house, heart thudding out an excited beat.

“See you wanted to join,” Greg murmured as the shower door slid open, and Mycroft stepped in behind him.

“I did,” Mycroft said, sliding his hands around Greg’s waist, hesitantly cupping his hips and drawing him back to rest against him.

Greg let out a low moan as Mycroft’s cock pressed against his lower back. “Let’s be quick in here. I want to make you feel good, love.”

Mycroft nodded and slid his hand further around, brushing his thumb over Greg’s cock.

Greg reached down and covered his hand. “Lemme help?” he murmured, guiding Mycroft’s hand closer to his base and tightening his grasp. Mycroft set his chin on Greg’s shoulder, watching closely as Greg began to move their joined hands, sliding the length of his cock, slick with soap.

With a breathy sigh, Greg tipped his head back, letting the water rain down on him. “God, My.”

Mycroft turned his head slightly, kissing the length of Greg’s neck. “Are you washed up?” he asked softly. “You did want nothing more than a quick shower.”

“Yeah, I’m done.” Greg released his hand, turning around and crowding Mycroft up against the cold tile wall, kissing him deeply to muffle the squawk of indignation. He smiled, and pulled away, catching Mycroft’s hand. “C’mon.” He tugged him out and turned off the water, then grinned. “Ready?”

“We haven’t got any towels on yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Greg glanced at him and ran, pulling Mycroft through the hallway, water droplets splattering the carpet as he laughed.

“If the carpet is soaked, I will have something to say to you,” Mycroft protested as Greg nudged him over to the bed.

“If the carpet is soaked, I will gladly let you say it to me,” Greg said, climbing atop him with a smile.

“Aren’t I meant to be on top?” Mycroft asked, looking up at him with a hesitant smile.

“You could be, if you wanted. And you will be in a minute. But right now, I want to make sure you’re prepared to take me. Let me see your hands,” Greg said, in a mock stern voice, setting his hands on his hips. Mycroft raised an eyebrow, but held them up. “Very good. Nails are nicely trimmed and no cuts or open abrasions.”

Mycroft’s smile grew wider. “Is this part of the safety talk?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Greg dipped down and kissed him on the tip of his nose and then rolled off. He reached under the bed and pulled out a small box. “Here.”

Mycroft sat up and looked as Greg opened it up. “Not vaseline?” he asked, looking in on the unlabeled bottle.

“No. Somethin’ in the papers about how it doesn’t work with condoms. I dunno,” Greg shrugged. “Better safe than sorry.”

“Why are you so...concerned, Gregory?” Mycroft asked quietly.

Greg swallowed. “I...fuck.” He sighed and closed the box. “The last guy I spent the night with...he’s dead.”

Mycroft blinked. “Gregory?”

Greg sat back, glancing away. “He’s American. Or he was...and we spent one night together. It was his last night, and then he went home. Used a condom with me, but he didn’t with other people once he got back. I was sixteen, he was eighteen. He wrote me a letter. Telling me that he had the disease. Just in case I had it too. I got checked, and like I said, we were safe. He knew who he caught it from. His friend back home had it at the same time. Showed up on the friend a week after they slept together.”

“You’re afraid you might give it to me anyway,” Mycroft said. “That you’re somehow not clean?”

“No. I know I am. It’s been almost two years, and I haven’t got any signs and I go to the free clinic checks. And it was only once and we did use a condom.” Greg sighed, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “But yeah, I want to be safe. Because what if all that is wrong? What if I am somehow, and it’s gonna show up some time?”

Mycroft nodded and pushed the box aside, pulling Greg to his chest.

“It’s all in my head, I know it is,” Greg mumbled. “But it doesn’t help any. Not when I heard over and over again that I was dirty and bad. I love you. Don’t want you to get sick.”

Mycroft stroked his fingers through Greg’s hair, righting the mess Greg had made of it earlier. “It is. But it is understandable. So what do you want to do, Gregory?”

“I do want to be with you,” Greg said miserably. “I’m just…”

“Worried. And rightfully so.” Mycroft leaned down and kissed his head. “May I say something?”

“What's that?”

“I’m glad you’re worried, it means you care. I’d be worried too. But, we will be safe, right?

“Yeah.”

“You’ve gotten tested and were clean? Quite often, judging by earlier comments.”

Greg nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s do it anyway. We can’t live in fear, and we’ve taken all the precautions. And I love you,” Mycroft said quickly. “So if you’d rather not, I’d understand, but I think we both want this. So let’s. We’re doing what we can.”

Greg took a breath and sat up. “Say it again?” he asked, smiling slightly.

“We’re doing what we can?”

“Oh no. You know what I mean.”

Mycroft blushed and looked away. “I love you,” he mumbled.

Greg chuckled. “Why are you embarrassed about that, sweetheart?”

“You said it first.”

“So what?”

“It took me days to reply!”

“Only what, two?” Greg grinned. “Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. No matter how long it took, you still said, it, right? And you mean it?” Mycroft nodded, and Greg pushed him back on the bed, kissing him deeply. “Good,” he said when they finally broke apart.

“It was certainly passable.”

“Passable? Just passable?”

Mycroft smirked and rolled them over. “Enough to win you some attention.”

Greg laughed, kissing his shoulder. “Well, in that case.”

Mycroft cupped Greg’s face and lay between his legs. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Greg nodded. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, swallowing.

“I’m sure.” Mycroft kissed his belly. “Tell me what to do.”

“Get the lube from the box.”

Mycroft obeyed, and then looked to Greg.

“Slick one finger, and rub it around my rim,” Greg said, bending his legs at the knee. “Don’t press in yet, just tease a bit.”

Mycroft squeezed a bit from the bottle, and pressed his index finger to Greg’s rim, teasing it around.

“Good,” Greg grinned down at him. “You ever done this to yourself?”

Mycroft gave a hesitant shake of the head. “Like I said. I didn’t see how it could be pleasurable. I tried once and couldn’t get my fingers in.”

“Weren’t relaxed enough probably. Did you use anything?”

“Vaseline. I’m not entirely stupid, Gregory.”

“Oh, love, I know you aren’t. You’re my brilliant sweetheart, aren’t you?”

Mycroft flushed and shook his head, pressing a kiss to Greg’s thigh. “Don’t say those things.”

“Why? Because they make you blush? And get hard, and want me even more?” Greg teased.

“I don’t like blushing. I wish I didn’t so easily,” Mycroft muttered, easing his finger in.

Greg groaned. “Well, I mean...you don’t seem to blush as much around other people.”

“Only you, Gregory.”

“I’m special then, aren’t I?” Greg grinned, head thudding back as Mycroft curved his finger experimentally. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

Mycroft repeated the motion, wide eyed as Greg let out a long moan. “You truly enjoy this,” Mycroft said.

“God yeah, add another,” Greg chuckled, body relaxed and loose.

Mycroft pressed a second finger in beside the first, watching in fascination.

Greg sighed. “Perfect.”

“How long should I do this?” Mycroft asked, curving his fingers, scissoring them carefully.

“Depends on the person honestly,” Greg said, wetting his lips. “I don’t need much-ah-prep, but some people need more. I could probably take you now. But add a third, and we’ll give that a go before you press in.”

“Can you honestly hold a full conversation like this? Is that normal?”

“Well, there’s not much else to do,” Greg joked. “And I can. But if the last time is anything to go by, I’ll be a fuckin’ wreck the minute you push in.”

“I would like to see that,” Mycroft said, flushing.

“All yours. Get a condom on and you can.”

Mycroft nodded and withdrew his fingers.

Greg sat up, and smiled. “C’mere,” he said, watching Mycroft struggling with the package, his fingers slick and trembling with nerves. “First, of all,” he said, taking it and opening it easily, “You’re not gonna hurt me. So relax. Second, just go slow. Third, if you want to stop, we can.” He looked up and gave Mycroft a wink, rolling the condom onto his cock. “So. What’s it gonna be?”

Mycroft took a breath. “I want to continue.” He leaned forward, and kissed Greg deeply.  
“Great. Lay back,” Greg said. “We’re gonna do this a bit differently.”

“You’re going to ride me?” Mycroft asked, breath catching as Greg pushed gently on his shoulders, knocking him back into the pillows.

“Yeah,” Greg said. “Problem?” Mycroft shook his head, and Greg straddled him with a careful movement. “Good. Put your hands on my hips, sweetheart.”

Mycroft obeyed and settled his hands, trying not to clutch too tight.

“Now. I’m gonna guide you in,” Greg said, wetting his lips as he shifted, trying to get a good angle. “Push up, but slow, yeah? You’re gonna kinda meet me.”

Mycroft nodded, watching as Greg reached back. He lifted his gaze to meet Greg’s, rocking up more on instinct than on any intelligent decision as he felt heat envelop his cock. “Gregory.”

Greg let out a low, long breath, holding Mycroft’s gaze as he sank down, reaching forward to brace himself on the other boy’s shoulders. “Feels so good,” he managed to get out, thighs trembling as he struggled not to just sink down completely.

Beside the sound of their shaky, disbelieving breaths, the room was silent as Greg took Mycroft in, biting his lip to remain silent. Mycroft did the same, both muffling moans of utter disbelieving pleasure.

As Mycroft bottomed out, Greg let out a gasp. “‘S all right. Move,” Greg said, swallowing. “So...fuckin’ big. ‘S perfect. Love you,” he said, dropping his head, kissing Mycroft desperately as the new angle sent a bolt of pleasure up his spine.

Mycroft shifted his hips carefully, drawing another gasp from both of them. He repeated the movement tentatively, and then again, with more confidence, setting up a slow rhythm. “Gregory. The way you feel...I...oh,” Mycroft managed.

Greg nodded, busy biting marks over Mycroft’s chest in an effort to keep from crying out in utter pleasure, panting as he rocked his hips with him. He took one hand, wrapping it around his cock with a moan and then pushed up, pulling off Mycroft’s cock only to sink back down. “Love you,” he breathed. “Perfect.”

Mycroft groaned at the praise, cheeks flushed and chest sweating as he reached out. “Let me?” he said, covering Greg’s hand with his own, stroking him off.

They moaned in tandem as Greg lifted off, lowering himself back down just as Mycroft pushed up. “Gregory...I’m close,” Mycroft said, feeling the curling of a low, taunting fire in his belly, just near enough to explosion that it was hard to keep the rhythm he’d found.

“Come for me, My. Come in me,” Greg said, leaning down to kiss him, rocking forward.

Mycroft groaned as the headboard slammed against the wall. “Yes, Gregory, yes, please.”

Greg trailed his palms over Mycroft’s chest, nails catching on the tender skin, leaving thin, red grooves as an inarguable claim. “Come. Lemme see you,” Greg said, pulling back.

Mycroft thrust up into him with a muddled shout, coming hard.

Greg groaned, and came as well, hand flying over his cock. He collapsed, pressing their foreheads together as they caught their breath. “Was that all right?” Greg murmured, kissing him.

Opening his eyes slowly, Mycroft nodded.

Greg smiled. “Good.” He kissed Mycroft again, cupping his face. He shifted and let out a sigh. “Right. Clean up time.”

Mycroft grimaced, glancing down at his wilted cock and the messy condom. “Indeed.”


	15. Chapter 15

Greg woke to a beam of light across his face from the open window. He rolled over, smiling as he saw Mycroft was still sleeping. “Hey. We overslept,” he murmured, stroking a hand down his spine. “C’mon. Gotta get up.”

Mycroft stirred grumpily, mumbling into his arms. They’d shared another orgasm in the shower, and then another in bed, and could probably do with another shower. Greg sighed. “Mycroft. You’re _late._ ”

Mycroft pushed himself up, kneeling upright. “Late!” His eyes were comically wide as he shoved the covers and sheets away from himself, scrambling from the bed.

Greg propped himself up on his elbow, watching Mycroft scramble for his clothes. “You’ve got some time left,” he said, glancing at the clock. “Don’t you go in late on Thursday’s?”

“Thursday!” Mycroft snapped, standing up straight, trousers and shirt hanging off his arm as he slammed the wardrobe shut. “It’s not Thursday, it’s...Wednesday! I needed to be there hours ago!”

“Wednesday was yesterday,” Greg said calmly, giving a shrug.

“Wednesday was not yesterday! Wednesday is….today,” Mycroft said, trailing off. “Ah…”

Greg smiled at him, and got out of bed. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He sauntered over and kissed Mycroft deeply. “Happy Thursday. I’ll see you, yeah? Gonna go shower in the other bathroom and go to the shop before I’m any later to open.” He chuckled as Mycroft leaned into the kiss, giving a quiet moan.

“Yes..” Mycroft breathed, nodding with his eyes a bit unfocused as Greg pulled away. “Yes,” he said again, clearing his throat. “Good idea.”

“I know,” Greg smirked, walking away. “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” Mycroft murmured, watching him go.

**

“Scuse me? This Green Ivories Music Co.?”

Greg glanced over and nodded at the small, weasly looking man, dressed in a cheap suit. “Yep, that’s us. Sorry, just getting the door unlocked, running late today. Deliveries, you know.”

“Are you the owner?”

“No, I’m just the assistant. Can I help you with something?” Greg asked, pushing the door open. “I’m Greg.”

“Gregory Lestrade?”

Greg paused and turned to him, warning bells ringing in his head. “Yeah….” he said cautiously. “Why are you asking?”

“I’m Martin Vander from St. Mary’s hospital. I’m afraid I have some bad news, and this was the only contact address we were able to find for you.”

“Bad news?” Greg asked. “What kind of bad news?”

The man gave him an awkward smile, obviously trying to be comforting. “Wouldn’t you rather sit down?”

“No. Tell me why you’re here,” Greg said. “Now.”

“I’m afraid your mother was admitted late Monday night to our hospital. She showed signs of a heart attack. I’m sorry, but we weren’t able to revive her. She was declared dead after about an hour.”

Greg swallowed, and leaned against the door frame. “She’s dead?”

“Yes. You have my condolences. Is there someone that you can call to be with you?”

“I...no. No.” Greg shook his head. “What do I need to do?”

“We’ll need you to identify the body, and collect her things, and deal with paperwork.”

“I’ll go now.” Greg pulled the door shut, locking up again.

“Yes, here. I’ll give you my card with the case number.”

**

Plastic bag in hand, Greg slumped down on the bench outside. The sun was behind the clouds promising rain, and he closed his eyes against the dim rays.

Dead. His mother had died. He was an orphan now. Not that he hadn’t been before, but now...it was real.

There wouldn't be any apologies. Not a single, remorseful word from his mother. Not a single penny left to him either probably, he’d have to get in contact with the solicitor still, but she’d probably changed her will out of spite, if she'd even had one. Let it go to her sister in somefuckwhere, Texas, United States of America.

Greg kicked a rock bitterly, figuring he was allowed to be angry. She was his mother, despite the fact she’d hated him. He could remember before the divorce, before everything went to hell, when she still cared. Still tried to pretend she’d wanted kids, that he hadn't been an accident. He’d known he wasn't wanted, but it was one thing to know, and another to hear it from your mother's lips. Especially right after your father had died, and you'd had to move back in with her, and her breath smelled like rum. And your thirteen year old self had stupidly stood there, and thought, I wonder if this is how it'd be to be yelled at by a pirate, because you didn't have another way besides morbid humor to comprehend what had happened. To cope with what was happening.

Greg stood, and trudged to the nearest tube station, heading back to Mycroft’s for lack of anything else to do. At least there he was wanted. At least there, he didn't have to worry about getting told he was worthless, a fairy. Set to get sick and die, attracting god's wrath wherever he went.

God’s wrath indeed. Greg swore as he stepped out of the station and into the pouring rain. He clutched the bag to his chest and sprinted, swearing again as a cab went by, sending a wave of mud halfway up his legs.

“Jesus, why do I fuckin’ bother,” Greg snarled, turning down a side street, slowing as he realized there was no point in getting out of the rain any sooner. He sighed, anger gone once his speed slowed, and just a hollow, empty feeling in his chest as he trudged along.

He reached the house, and pushed the door open, setting the bag down. “Hello? Mycroft?”

No one answered, and Greg shrugged miserably, shutting the door and shrugging his jacket off. He thought for a moment, then kicked off his shoes and dropped his trousers and shirt as well. He piled them up in a corner of the tile, planning to deal with them after a quick shower.

Heading up the stairs, he stopped in his room for a towel, sitting on the edge of the bed. He leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling, wondering just how much worse his day could end up, eyes sliding shut with exhaustion as his stomach turned.

**

“Gregory? Gregory, you’re burning up!”

Greg pulled away from the cold hands, shivering. “Don’t feel good,” he mumbled. “Sleepin’.”

“You’re ill. You need to take some medicine.”

The hands went away, and there were footsteps, each quiet thud echoing twice as loud in Greg’s head. Greg groaned and tugged the blanket over him, hiding from the noise and the light.  
Then the hands came back, and Greg realized it was Mycroft touching him, coaxing him out. He’d dimmed the light or tuned it off completely, Greg wasn’t sure. But there was cool water at his lips, and he drank it down eagerly, his stomach cramping. “Gonna be sick,” Greg mumbled.

There was suddenly a bowl at his chin, and in good time too, as Greg retched, a sickening splatter telling him he’d made the target blindly. Mycroft wiped his chin with a handkerchief. “What’s happened, Gregory? Did you catch the flu? Eat something?”

“Funny chicken earlier,” Greg mumbled. “At the ho-” He cut off, dry heaving again, thankful that he’d only eaten the questionable sandwich and some grapes that day, and his stomach wasn’t full.

“All right,” Mycroft soothed. “Here, drink this down, it’ll help.” Greg gagged at the medicine, but drank. Mycroft gave him some more water, only a few sips, and then helped him lay down, wiping his face off with a cloth. “Rest, Gregory.”

Greg nodded, eyes shut. “Don’t go. I’m all alone. Don’t wanna be,” he mumbled, reaching out, searching for Mycroft’s hand.

“I”m right here,” Mycroft murmured, kissing his brow. “Rest.”

“Don’ leave. Don’ leave.” Greg found his hand and squeezed tight.

“I won’t. I’ll be here when you wake. Rest. You’ve got food poisoning I think.”

Greg made a noise of unhappy agreement, unable to stay awake any longer as a heavy blanket covered him. Mycroft began to hum a quiet song and the rest of the world faded out.

**

Greg groaned as he sat up, stomach still in knots but his nausea mostly gone. “My?” he called quietly, the bed beside him empty. He glanced over at the clock and groaned again, standing up. He made his way to the bathroom on unsteady legs.

“You’re awake.” Mycroft appeared at the door a few moments later.

Greg nodded, spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste and rinsing, leaning heavily on the sink. “What the hell happened?”

“I believe you had food poisoning.”

Greg made a noncommittal noise and sat on the edge of the tub. “I have to get dressed and go out,” he said. “Got too much to do.”

“What is there to do?” Mycroft asked, coming in and handing him a small flannel.

“I have to sort out the funeral. Figure out if I'm able to afford it, contact the solicitor.”

Mycroft looked at him sharply. “Gregory. _What funeral?_ ”

Greg felt his stomach shrink and tighten, and he shifted uncomfortably. “My mother’s. They...came and told me at the shop yesterday,” he said quietly, looking at his feet. “I know I shouldn’t feel this bad about it, but...she was still my mum. Said hateful things to me all my life.” He shook his head, tears welling up even as he fought them. “I don’t have a family now. Not really.”

Mycroft went to his knees beside him, wrapping his arms around him. “Yes, you do, Gregory. You have a family here with us, I promise.” He kissed him on the temple as Greg hid his face against his chest. “You’re not alone. You’ll be all right.”

Greg shook his head, starting to properly cry. He brought his arms up around Mycroft, holding him tight.

“I love you. You’re not alone,” Mycroft murmured, kissing the top of his head again.


	16. Chapter 16

Greg tugged at his collar, sinking down onto his bed, simply thankful the funeral was over. The Holmes were downstairs, but were letting him be. The afternoon had been exhausting, and his aunt had shown up the morning of, demanding information, and thankful she didn’t have to take care of Greg. She was staying for three days, and she and Greg had an appointment with the solicitor. Like Greg had figured, the bulk of his mother’s estate had gone to her, but from what the solicitor had said, there was something left for him that needed sorted out. 

Laying back, Greg pillowed his head on his hands, drifting off into an exhausted sleep. At some point during the night, he stirred, finding Mycroft beside him. He sighed, and tucked himself closer to the other boy, sleeping a bit easier as he felt gentle hands rub his back. 

**

“Should we wake him? He’s slept the day away, he must be starving.”

“No, Violet. He needs to rest. His music is so strained.” 

“I’m all right,” Greg said quietly, slipping into the kitchen to join Siger at the table. “Thank you for letting me sleep. I am hungry though.”

“Well, dinner’s nearly ready dear.” Violet patted his hand. 

“Where’s Mycroft?” Greg asked.

“He had a function for work,” Violet replied with a smile. “He didn’t want to leave, but we insisted you wouldn’t mind.”

Greg smiled back. “I don’t.”

“I’m very happy you two love each other,” Siger said absentmindedly scratching at the tablecloth as Sax wound his way around their ankles.

“Oh...he told you?” Greg said awkwardly.

“No, but you two really didn't need to. Not with the way you look at each other,” Violet said, setting a platter of bread on the table. “Here we are. Pasta salad for dinner. Have a roll, dear.”

Greg took one automatically. “Still though. I guess I'm sorry we didn't tell you two.”

Violet patted his shoulder and then popped her head out the back window and shouted for Sherlock. Greg sighed, and got up to help bring the rest of the food over to the table, wanting something to keep him busy. 

**

“I’m sorry, the house is mine?” Greg asked incredulously. 

“Yes.” The solicitor set a few papers in front of them. “While your assumptions were right, and your mother left her estate to Cynthia, the house has always been yours.” He nodded at Greg’s aunt, who was sitting beside him, obviously confused. “The house was in your father's name, and was to pass to you when you were of age. The belongings in the house are all considered your mother’s and therefore, belong to your aunt.”

“So, I get all of my sisters nasty furniture and clothes? No thank you,” Cynthia sniffed. “Let me sign to turn it over to Greg, so I can go home.”

“Well, it's not that simple. Greg’s underage for a few more weeks. You're his legal guardian now.”

“I don't want to take care of him!”

“I hadn't even been living with mum! This is shite,” Greg said angrily. “Aren't there papers we can sign?”

“There are, but until after it's all sorted out, you'll need a permanent address different from the house, and a permanent job to prove you can support yourself.”

“But I have-”

“I will not be responsible for him,” Cynthia broke in. “He's my sister's mistake, not mine.”

“Miss, if you can't-”

“I don't want you to be responsible for me, you've never liked me,” Greg snapped. “And as far as mistakes go, having you here-”

“Why, you little! How dare you!”

Siger cleared his throat loudly, and the attention in the room shifted to where he was standing in the back of the room. “Greg has a job and a place to stay. As long as he likes. I'm his boss, and his landlord...and we don't need papers.. I can be his guardian until he's of age.”

“That would be...easier,” the solicitor said. “As long as Cynthia signs over care of Greg to you for the next few weeks, which given she lives out of the country is legally acceptable, it should be fine.”

“Let’s get this paper work done then. Right away, I’ve a flight to catch.” Cynthia sniffed. “Honestly.”

 

**

Greg waited until Cynthia was out of sight, and then threw his arms around Siger, burying his face in the older man’s chest. “Thank you,” he said weakly. “Thank you so much, I can’t….She’s never liked me.”

Siger patted his back gently. “It’s all right, Greg. You can stay with us as long as you like. You’re one of the family. Let’s go home, and sort everything else out, then find out what shape your father’s house is in.” 

Greg sniffed, and nodded. “All right,” he said quietly, not letting Siger go. “I...really, Siger. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Gregory. Come on! I want to stop for lunch on the way back. I’m going to try Indian food,” Siger said happily, patting his back again as Greg finally pulled away. 

“Sounds good,” Greg said with a careful smile. He followed Siger down the street, listening to him prattle on about the newest music he’d written. By the time they got back, food in hand, Mycroft was home and waiting. 

“How did it go?” He asked urgently. 

“It went...better than expected,” Greg said, smiling at him and reaching out for his hand, leading him into the garden so they could talk. “You father is my caretaker for the next few weeks. Once it’s my birthday, he won’t be anymore, and I’ll be able to move out, and into my old home. Turns out my father left it for me, and his life insurance money in an account that I couldn’t access until I was eighteen. Nice of her to let me know I guess.”

Mycroft gave him a relieved smile. “But you’re to stay in London? And you have a place to stay?”

Greg nodded. “Yeah. Not going anywhere.” He squeezed Mycroft’s hand. “Also, your parents know. About us.”

“Yes. I am aware,” Mycroft said with a grimace. “If you think your safety talk was uncomfortable, the one I had a few minutes before you arrived with my mother was far, far worse.” 

Greg grinned at him, and leaned in for a kiss. “My poor sweetheart. Well, don’t worry. I’ll make it all better soon. You wanna go for a ride? Siger’s gonna go with me to check out the house and see what my mum’s done to it, but he’s eating. You and I could go to the park for a bit.”

“Mm, no. Let’s simply stay here, and hide in the back corner of the garden, where we can’t be seen from the kitchen window.” Mycroft smiled back at him, blushing slightly. “I’ll go in and get us a plate to share.”

“That could be arranged,” Greg said, giving him a softer, fond smile. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I know you do, Gregory.” Mycroft kissed him once more and then got up, going into the house.


	17. Chapter 17

“So, looks about the same as how I left it,” Greg said, shrugging as he glanced around the living room. “Little worse maybe.”

Siger’s face was wrinkled in a frown as he walked around. “This place does not have very nice music,” he said, poking at an empty bottle on the floor with his toe.

“Tell me about it,” Greg said, nodding. “I’ll clean it up soon. I’d like to see what she did to my room, honestly. I’m more than a bit concerned.” He grimaced, and turned down the hall. His door was open, and he poked his head in, turning on the light. “Christ.”

“Oh my,” Siger said, tilting his head as he looked in. “Very not nice music.”

Greg sighed, taking in the torn curtains and the strong smell of cleaner, obviously poured on everything and left to sit. “This can’t be healthy.” He shook his head, and went over, opening the small window, mouth covered with his hand. “It’s all probably ruined. I’ll deal with this later. I’m gonna go back into the kitchen and make sure the icebox and the rubbish is empty. Don’t want any food rotting and making more of a mess than there already is.” He sighed, and stepped out. 

“Gregory? Do you want help with this?” Siger asked, propping himself gingerly on a beaten up old chair while he watched Greg empty the refrigerator contents into the trash. 

“Help?” Greg asked. “Well, I mean that would be nice, but who would help me? Suppose I could pay some people.”

“No, no. I know people that will help. They’re my friends,” Siger said, tapping his fingers. 

“Well, if you think they’ll help, I appreciate it,” Greg said. “Just let me know. You can go to the shop, Siger, I’ll just do a bit more around here, and then I’ll head back to yours. That all right?”

Siger nodded. “Of course. I’ll have them come on Sunday, and we can all help you.”

Greg smiled at him. “You’re the best, Siger. Really.”

Siger grinned. “I’m not the best. Violet’s the best.”

“Of course. That’s why you love her,” Greg chuckled. 

“Oh yes.” Siger hopped up, and headed out, humming a tune. 

**

“Hey, sweetheart.” Greg looked up as Mycroft walked in, dustpan and small broom in hand. “You here with your da, or is he still on his way?”

“He’s a few minutes behind. He’s bringing quite a few people, you know,” Mycroft said, kneeling beside him. What are you doing?”

“Oh. Broke an empty perfume bottle, figured I’d sweep up the glass before I finished going through her stuff,” Greg said, gesturing at the closet. “Nothing in here that interests me, makes it one of the easier rooms to go through. How many people is Siger bringing?”

“At the last count? There were ten people gathered around the kitchen table, and another eight or so on the way?”

“Seriously?” Greg asked. “That’s over twenty people, I don’t even know if there’s that much work!”

“When my father makes friends, he tends to make them for life. He’s a rather memorable fellow, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s...wow.” Greg sat back, and shook his head. “Wow.”

“Indeed. Gregory, what is this?” Mycroft asked, reaching into the shadows at the back of the closet and bringing out a glossy wooden box. “Looks rather important to be shoved back there, doesn’t it?”

Greg frowned. “That’s...mine. Well, it was my father’s. Memorial box they gave me after the funeral.” He reached out for it, settling the box on his lap. “My mum said she hadn’t seen it. That it had gone missing…. I didn’t believe her, but I kept checking the bin, and it wasn’t there, so I...gave up. Every Christmas, every time his birthday came around, after he died, I’d set it up on the mantle. She wouldn’t do anything to celebrate him, but this was one way I could remember him, you know?” He opened the lid carefully, showing a picture set into the wood, and a folded flag and medal under a piece of carefully placed glass. “She must have...gotten tired of me doing it. Meant to get rid of it, but shoved it in the closet so that I wouldn’t figure out about it and forgot it was there after I stopped asking. God, she was a cunt,” Greg spat out, closing the lid and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “And I can’t even hate her.”

“You certainly can, but hate won’t heal any of the marks she left on you,” Mycroft said quietly, putting an arm around him. “Just...remember that you had one parent who loved you unconditionally. And now, you do have another family. Two people, comparable to in-laws who also love you unconditionally. A younger brother if you will, who is an absolute terror. And myself. Who loves you perhaps the most of the group.” He smiled as there was the sound of multiple people arriving. “And those folks out there, who know nothing except for you’re a friend of Siger Holmes, and you need help. That is family, Gregory. You’re not alone.” 

Greg sighed and looked at him with a faint smile. “Thank you, Mycroft. For being here. And for not letting me forget I have people who care.” He leaned in, and kissed him gently. “Let’s go see what sort of troops your father rounded up, shall we?” 

“Absolutely.” Mycroft stood, and offered Greg a hand up. 

They walked out to the living room, and Greg blinked in surprise. “Wow. Siger, who are all these people?” he asked, going over to the man. 

Siger smiled happily. “They’re people with better music. That’s Michael, I used to box with him. That’s Ajeet and his wife, Pari. He makes Indian food, and she makes instruments. That’s Anthony and Mark and Lila. They’re all very good friends and they sing. That’s Sue, she’s Violet’s friend, but she has a lovely song. It’s very bright, and her song actually has words, even if they are all number words. Oh, and over there is-Gregory?” Siger blinked down in surprise as Greg threw his arms around him once more, hugging him. He patted the teen on the back. “Why is your music like that?”

“Because I’m happy,” Greg said softly. “Really, truly happy. Thank you for helping me, Siger.” 

“I can tell,” Siger said, grinning. “Now! Let’s clean. And I’ll finish introducing you.”


	18. Chapter 18

Greg finished throwing the last of his new clothes into his duffle, forcing the zip shut. He looked up at movement in the corner of his eye and smiled. “Hey, Sherlock. What’s up?”

Sherlock scowled at him. “Nothing.”

“Yeah?” Greg asked. “You sure? Cause you’ve been lurking around me all day.”

“Humph.”

“Glaring at me too,” Greg said. “Are you mad at me for something?” He set the duffle on the ground next to his guitar case and then sat on the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross legged, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lestrade. Why would I be upset you’re leaving?” Sherlock sniffed, crossing his arms and attempting to lean against the doorframe, nearly falling as he did so. He righted himself, huffing again. 

“Ah.” Greg smiled at him. “You know, Sherlock...I’ll only be a little bit away. You can come visit me still. And it’s what, four days until my birthday? I’d be moving out then anyway.”

“But you don’t have to,” Sherlock grumbled. 

“No, I don’t have to,” Greg replied. “But I feel bad living here when I have a house that I can stay in. I’ve been on my own for a long time. It’s nice to have that sort of privacy again. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you. And it doesn’t mean I didn’t like living here. I just...being independent is a nice thing for me. I know that if I need to, I can come back here.”

“But what if you don’t need to?” Sherlock asked, wavering slightly. “You won’t come back then.”

Greg shrugged, and gave him a fond look. “Sherlock. I will always come back for you. Even if Mycroft and I break up, which, I really, really hope doesn’t happen, you’re my family now. If you need me, I’ll be there. I promise.” 

Sherlock looked him over distrustfully. “You promise?”

“Honest. I’ll come for you if you need me,” Greg nodded. “You’re like the little brother I always wanted. Even if you are a bit of a pain in the arse sometimes.” 

Sherlock grinned. He hesitated, and then ran forward, hugging Greg tight before exiting the room just as quickly. 

“Whatever just happened, he’ll pretend it didn’t,” Mycroft said quietly, entering Greg’s room. 

“I know. Sentiment,” Greg said, shrugging. “He knows it did though. Think that’s what counts.”

“I worry about him,” Mycroft said, sitting on the bed. “Constantly.”

“Why?” Greg asked. 

“He’s smart,” Mycroft said quietly. “Brilliant. But he….doesn’t quite handle it the same way I do. The acting out at school, the emotional outbursts...he doesn’t make friends. Neither did I, but in some way….he’s different about it. He makes...companions. People who take from him, but don’t truly give back. He doesn’t seem to realize what people say about him, but I know he does. He just keeps it all in. Especially after that debacle with the pool and that older boy who drowned. All the things people said to him, laughing at him.” 

“So do you,” Greg said quietly, putting a hand on his thigh. “And I heard about the pool. He seems to have moved on a bit, hasn’t he?” 

“It’s different with him though,” Mycroft sighed. “He’s special. More so than I am.” 

“Yeah. But he has you watching out for him,” Greg said. “He’ll be all right in the end. Might have some troubles, but I believe in him. He’ll be a good man someday.” 

Mycroft gave him a slight smile. “I hope you’re right.” 

There was a sudden loud clap from out in the garden, and Violet started shouting. Greg grinned, and jumped up to close the window before the smell of Sherlock’s latest experiment could reach them. 

“If he makes it that far,” Mycroft said, shaking his head. 

**

“Well...I’m unpacked,” Greg said, setting the empty duffle on the ground and pushing it under his bed. He glanced around the room, now cleaned. “Thanks again for helping me clean this place up and finding some new furniture. I really appreciate it,” he said, looking over at Siger and Violet.

Siger nodded, busy tuning Greg’s guitar. “Better music in here now,” he murmured distractedly.

“Really, Gregory, it was no trouble. But you will be coming back on Friday for your birthday dinner, do you understand?” Violet said sternly, folding some clean towels and setting them down on the dresser. “I’ll be baking a pie.”

Greg grinned at her. “Of course. Don’t have to worry about me missing out on your baking.”

“And Sunday dinners.”

“Even better,” Greg said, chuckling.

“And if it’s ever too much, you know that that room is your room now. You’re welcome any time,” Gregory.” 

Greg smiled. “I know, Violet. You are….the mum that I’d always imagined, you know that, don’t you? Much better than the one I had.”

“Oh, come here dear.” Violet pulled him in for a hug. “Now, I left you a few casseroles in the ice box, and don’t be afraid to ask how to heat them, but I did leave instructions on the table.” 

“Thank you.” Greg chuckled as she continued to prattle on, stepping away from him to tug at Siger, getting him to put down the guitar. 

“We’ll check in on you tomorrow. Don’t be surprised if Sherlock shows up, I simply can’t keep tabs on that boy. I know Mycroft will be stopping by after his work has finished,” Violet said, leading Siger to the door. “If you could, make sure that he comes home before Friday, but do tell him we don’t mind if he stays here tonight. We know you boys wouldn’t mind a bit of privacy.” She winked. 

“Violet!” Greg gaped.

“Oh, don’t Violet me. I know what boys are like at your age, I was dating a few of them,” Violet said, shaking her head.

Greg groaned. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Goodbye, Gregory.” Siger smiled at him, taking Violet’s hand as they left. “Enjoy the casseroles.” 

Greg nodded, waving them out the door. He shut the door behind him, and leaned against it, shaking his head. “Wait until I tell Mycroft about that,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “And speak of the devil,” he stood straight as there was a knock on the door. “Hey, Sweetheart. You just missed your parents.”

“Did I?” Mycroft asked, stepping in and stealing a kiss. “And something about the look on your face tells me that was a good thing.”

Greg grinned at him. “C’mon. I have a casserole to heat up, and you can stay for dinner. In fact, as long as you show up at home sometime before Friday, your mother doesn’t mind if you stay for longer.”

“Oh god,” Mycroft muttered, following Greg into the kitchen. “Well, I hate to disappoint, but I’ll be heading home early. I have a rather large report to finish, and I’ll need to go out of London until Thursday. I’m to accompany my boss.”

“Yeah? He won’t try and move in on you, will he?” Greg joked, teasing to hid his disappointment. 

“No.” Mycroft shook his head. “He is quite utterly heterosexual, though with his choice in facial hair, one might be surprised.” 

Greg snorted. “Well, stay for dinner anyway, and tell me how your day was. Then I’ll let you escape back home to pack.” He smiled. “After a bit of a snog.”

Mycroft blushed as he caught Greg’s gaze. “That sounds….delightful.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note:
> 
> Things get steamy! Virginity is what you make of it! It's a social construct! *throws glitter in the air* With that in mind, Mycroft is considering being on the receiving end of penetration as the loss of his virginity. It truly is a matter of personal perception. Don't worry too much about it, just know that Greg and Mycroft are both happy with each other. 
> 
> Another authors note! Due to my schedule tomorrow, there may not be an update until the day after! Apologies. I hope this chapter that is nearly 3k of long awaited smut will make up for it. \^_^/ 
> 
> Also, if you didn't catch the chapter number going up, it did! You're welcome. This chapter ran so long, I needed to break it up! Tsk, boys, tsk. Also, if you've made it this far and want even more, subscribe to the series! There will be more! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

By the time Thursday rolled around, Greg had settled into the house. He’d managed to get most of his mother’s possessions off to the charity shops, and had used what he’d gotten for them to buy some new things for the house, including a basic home phone. He’d happily dialed Violet and Siger’s house, and he and Sherlock had chatted for a little bit, the younger boy obviously enthused about having someone to talk too. Mycroft was due back, and Greg was more than hoping that he’d stop by sometime, but wasn’t thinking he’d get too lucky with it as the clock ticked closer to evening.

Sighing, Greg stood and put away the remains of his dinner, starting to wash up the dishes. There was a knock on the door, and he perked up, going to answer and once he realized who was there, grinning widely. “Mycroft!”

“Gregory.” Mycroft smiled back, stepping in the door and closing it behind him. “I’ve decided I’d like to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. As such, I assumed it would be best to spend the night here. If you don’t mind?”

“Mind? Course not.” Greg leaned in for a kiss, taking the small bag he carried. “You eat already?”

“Yes, my mother fed me before I left. She also ensured that I was well prepared for any eventuality, so I beg of you, do not open the front zip on my bag,” Mycroft said with a grimace.

Greg gave him a look, and opened the zip, snorting as he saw the strip of cheery colored condoms poking out. “Where did she even get these?”

“I do not know, and I do not wish to know,” Mycroft replied, taking the bag back and throwing it on the chair before wrapping his arms around Greg’s neck. “I missed you, Gregory.”

“I missed you too,” Greg said with a smile, resting his hands on Mycroft’s hips. “Want me to show you how much?”

“Mm, I could be persuaded,” Mycroft said, pecking him on the lips after he removed his jacket and shoes. “Take me to your chambers, Master Lestrade?”

“Ooh, think I like that,” Greg grinned, taking his hand and leading him down the hall. “And here we are. Repainted and newly furnished, thanks to some help from one of your father’s friends.”

“My, what a lovely bed,” Mycroft said, stepping in and sitting down on it, beckoning Greg over.

Greg followed him, shutting the door behind him. “It is. Been a bit empty though. Needed a snoring redhead in it, I think.”

“I do not snore!” Mycroft huffed, glaring at him as he plopped down. “Take it back.”

Greg grinned. “Nope.”

“Take it back, Gregory Lestrade.”

“You gonna make me?” Greg asked, biting his lip and giving Mycroft a coy look.

“I might,” Mycroft looked at him carefully and then pounced, knocking him back on the bed.

Greg fought back, laughing as they tussled. “You know I’ll win.”

“No, you won’t. You’ll let me win.”

“Who says that?” Greg asked, leaning up to nip at Mycroft’s exposed collarbone.

“I do,” Mycroft replied haughtily. “Because if you don’t you won’t get your present.”

“Ooh, what’s my present?” Greg asked, pausing and looking up at him. “Is it a pony?”

“No. It is not a diminutive horse. Where would you even put it?” Mycroft wet his lips, looking at him.

Greg shrugged under him, sensing Mycroft was a bit tense. “I dunno. In the spare bedroom?”

Mycroft sighed. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because you love me,” Greg smiled. “Now, will I like this present?”

“I do hope so. It’s one of a kind,” Mycroft said, shifting off him a bit.

“Is it now?” Greg asked, realizing what Mycroft was getting at. “Well, you’re right. I would like it, but it is one of a kind, and if you’d rather not give it to me yet, that’s fine too.”

Mycroft shook his head, rolling to his side and smiling hesitantly at Greg. “No. I want to. It’s just as much a present for me as it is you.”

“Yeah? Well...if you’re sure...maybe I should unwrap my present,” Greg said softly, running his hand over Mycroft’s side. “If he’d be so kind as to give me a kiss.”

Mycroft kissed him softly, and Greg let him control their movements, going along as Mycroft deepened it, shifting closer and pressing against him. “I love you,” Greg whispered after a bit, simply brushing their lips together as their kisses slowed, and they met each other’s gaze.

“I love you too,” Mycroft breathed, closing his eyes, and kissing Greg again, lips trailing down his neck. “I want you to take me, Gregory.” He brought his hands up, guiding Greg’s to his shirt buttons.

“If you want me to stop...say so. If it hurts, say so,” Greg murmured, steadily undoing each button. “This should be good for you, Mycroft, not just me, all right?”

Mycroft nodded, sitting up so Greg could push the shirt off him. “Let me?” he said, reaching out for Greg’s shirt, tugging it over his head. He paused, hesitating for only a moment before undoing Greg’s flies, shoving his jeans down over his hips.

Greg smiled at Mycroft as he wiggled out of them, leaving him in just his boxers, very obviously tented. “Let me get you out of these,” he said, reaching out and pulling Mycroft’s trousers gently down, baring his thighs.

Mycroft shifted, pulling them off the rest of the way, and then tugged Greg back on top of him, kissing him again.

Greg grinned, and rolled his body, their hips sliding together. “God, you’re so gorgeous, My.”

Letting out a quiet moan at the press of their cocks, Mycroft clutched Greg’s shoulders tight. “Gregory, please. I want you to take me, not tease me.”

“But sweetheart. Half the fun is in teasing,” Greg murmured, kissing him gently. “I won’t tease that much. I know you’re excited.”

Mycroft practically whimpered as Greg kissed down his throat, nipping gently. “Gregory. If I become...too much more excited, I will ruin everything.”

Greg stopped for a moment, giving him a fond smile. “God, I love you. My, you won’t ruin anything. We have all night, don’t we?” He smiled, and brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss. “In fact, I want you to come for me. Take the edge off a bit.”

Mycroft flushed, and gave a hesitant nod. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Greg smiled, and kissed him again, shucking his boxers. “Take off your pants and roll on your side, sweetheart.”

“On my side?” Mycroft asked, giving him a questioning look, but doing as he asked.

“Mhmm.” Greg fitted himself up behind Mycroft’s back, and gently took his cock in hand. He smiled as Mycroft let out a little moan. “I love the sounds you make. Cover my hand with your own, sweetheart.” Mycroft did, and Greg began to stroke, his own cock throbbing as it pressed up against Mycroft’s lower back. “I missed you,” Greg murmured, kissing the back of his neck. “Gone for ages, weren’t you?”

“It was only three days,” Mycroft said, weakly, shuddering in pleasure.

“Mm, but it felt like forever,” Greg smiled. “I’ll have to come visit you up at school. You can be the professor, and I’ll be a naughty student.”

Mycroft snorted. “No.”

“No?” Greg asked, extending his reply with a long stroke. “Maybe the other way around then? Ooh, you like that, I can tell,” he said with a smirk as Mycroft’s cock twitched in their hold. “Maybe we’ll play pretend? I can teach you all the dirty things I know.”

“Aren’t you already?” Mycroft asked, making a valiant effort to steady his voice as his breath hitched.

“Oh yeah. And you’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” Greg kissed his neck. “Gonna come real quick.” He squeezed gently, and Mycroft let out a small whimper, rocking into their touch. “C’mon, sweetheart. Show me,” Greg whispered, kissing the back of his neck. “That’s it. Almost there, aren’t you? Love you so much.”

Mycroft came hard, biting his lip to muffle his cries, his free hand clutching at Greg’s wrist.

Greg shivered, his own cock twitching in reply. “God, Mycroft. I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of that,” he murmured.

Mycroft moaned, trying to catch his breath as he rolled over, pressing against Greg, kissing him deeply. “ _Gregory_ ,” he finally managed to get out, breaking the kiss to gaze at him. “I...love you.”

“I know. I love you too,” Greg grinned, kissing his chin as he wiped his hand off on the sheets. “You wanna keep going?”

“Yes, yes,” Mycroft breathed, kissing him again, clutching him tightly. “Please, Gregory. I want to know you. All of you.”

Greg kissed him back, drawing him close to his chest. “Relax. I’m here. I want the same, My.”  
He rolled them over, kneeling above Mycroft, reaching out toward the bedside table for his box.

Mycroft ran his hands up Greg’s toned stomach, with a sated smile, though his cock was already attempting to stir. “Gregory?”

“Mm?” Greg asked, glancing at him as tore off a condom and opened the jar.

“I’m so…. very happy that I found you.”

Greg smiled down at him. “And I’m happy I found you.” He leaned down, kissing Mycroft slowly, shifting to lay between his legs. “Are you sure about this?”

“More than,” Mycroft said. “I know I am anxious, but I don’t want to stop.”

“All right.” Greg kissed his thigh. “Tell me though. If you do.”

“Always,” Mycroft replied, sighing as Greg brought slick fingers to his entrance. He shifted, propping himself up on a pillow.

“You want to watch?” Greg asked, smiling up at him.

Mycroft nodded, reaching out to run a hand through Greg’s hair. “You’re so handsome,” he murmured, flushing as Greg pressed his forefinger gently in.

“So are you, sweetheart. Love it when you blush like that for me.”

Mycroft’s color deepened, but he didn’t look away as Greg gently stretched him, murmuring praises as he worked up to two, and then three fingers, taking his time.

“You’ve gone quiet, Mycroft,” Greg said, once he could easily press in the three fingers, sliding them in and out.

“It feels strange,” Mycroft murmured, looking down at him with wide eyes. “I suppose...I am trying to categorize how it feels.”

“Feels bigger than they look, yeah?” Greg asked, removing his fingers, giving Mycroft’s cock a cursory kiss as he knelt back.

“It feels like I am on the brink of something, as if you’re close to something but you haven’t quite hit it yet.”

“Oh.” Greg smiled. “Well, I know how to fix that.” He lifted Mycroft’s calf, placing it on his shoulder.

“Gregory?”

“Just lemme show you.” Greg pressed two fingers back inside, him, curving them almost expertly.

Mycroft frowned, and then a moment later, let out a startled whine, arching into his touch. “Oh!”

“And that is why it feels so damn good,” Greg said, teasing him with another gentle brush. “I was avoiding it earlier. Didn’t think you’d want to come again.”

Mycroft gasped, nodding. “Gregory. Enough or I will come again, and really, two is my limit in the space of an hour,” he wheezed out.

Greg pulled his fingers away, letting Mycroft’s leg down and leaned forward, kissing him. “You’re adorable.”

“You’re reprehensible, teasing me this way,” Mycroft muttered. “You’re damned lucky I love you, Gregory Lestrade.”

“I am,” Greg agreed, dipping his head down to bite at Mycroft’s nipple, earning himself a startled squawk and a shove to his head. He laughed, kissing Mycroft again. “Sorry, sweetheart. They’re just so sensitive.”

Mycroft huffed, and shoved Greg again, rolling over onto his belly. “Enough teasing, get on with it.”

“My? You don’t have to be on your belly,” Greg said, smiling as he dragged his fingers down Mycroft’s spine. “You want to though?”

Mycroft hesitated, and then shook his head. “It isn’t quite….” he trailed off.

“What?” Greg asked, tugging him up to face him. “Tell me what you want.”

Mycroft sat up, putting his hands in his lap and avoiding Greg’s eyes. “I….have imagined what it would be like.”

“Yeah? So share that with me,” Greg murmured, tipping his chin up, giving him a supportive smile.

“If I had my way...you’d be above me….and….”

“And?” Greg asked, shifting closer and running his hand through Mycroft’s hair, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“And.” Mycroft swallowed. “I’d be facing you. I...want to see you,” he confessed, blushing again. “But I didn’t quite know if that was possible, so I just assumed it would be best to be on my stomach.”

“It’s very possible. That’s how my first time went,” Greg said softly. “And you need to stop assuming things. Didn’t I tell you that this was supposed to be good for you too?”

“It’s already even better than I’d imagined it might be,” Mycroft said, wetting his lips. “Much...much better.” He gave Greg a slight smile, cheeks tinged a deep red.

Greg chuckled, leaning in for a kiss. “I’m glad.”

“So I’d like to continue. Please.” Mycroft reached out, taking the condom up and opening it, rolling it down onto Greg’s cock after only a moment's pause.

“Was there anything else you wanted?” Greg asked moving with him as Mycroft laid back, brushing their lips together.

Mycroft smiled up at him. “Only you, Gregory. But I had imagined quite a deal of kissing as you penetrated me.”

Greg smiled back, giving a little chuckle. “Now that, I will do more than happily.” He shifted, bracing himself above Mycroft with one arm. “Might be easier if you-yeah.” He grinned as Mycroft wrapped his legs around his waist, and then twined his arms around Greg’s neck. “My brilliant sweetheart.”

Mycroft shifted, blushing again, Greg’s cock a hard length between them, both their heartbeats thrumming in anticipation. “Yours, Gregory.”

“And I’m all yours, My.” Greg carefully guided his cock to Mycroft’s entrance, lining up. “Take a breath and bear down for me, okay?” He smiled, and pressed in slowly.

Mycroft let out his breath, bearing down as Greg had said, eyes squeezed shut. “ _Oh_ ,” he said, a tiny breathless exclamation.

“Too much?” Greg murmured, stilling for a moment.

Mycroft shook his head. “Keep going. Please.”

Greg stole kisses as he pressed deeper, sipping kisses from his lips, brushing them over Mycroft’s closed eyelids, all but nuzzling at his throat in attempts to soothe what he knew to be an odd, weightless feeling. What he knew Mycroft was feeling, that strange sensation of his body floating, except for that one point of contact that was nothing more than a heavy, pressure filled stretch. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Mycroft grasped his shoulders, breathing steadily. “Please, Gregory. It feels...good. I feel full.”

“Mm, I know. I have you.” Greg kissed him again. “Can I move?”

Mycroft nodded, eyes flickering open to catch Greg’s gaze. Greg smiled at him, and began to roll his hips, gently pulling out and pushing back in. Mycroft moaned, grip on Greg tightening. Greg smiled. “God, you feel so good. So tight. I won’t last long.”

“Virgin,” Mycroft mumbled.

“Not anymore,” Greg replied with a small chuckle, teasingly nudging their chins together. Mycroft cracked a smile, leaning his head up to kiss Greg’s neck, nipping down the length. He started to shift under Greg, the pair finding their rhythm. Greg groaned as Mycroft marked him, the other boy’s nails dragging over his shoulder. “Feels good?” Greg asked as Mycroft moaned when he changed the angle of his hips.

Mycroft nodded, flushed, sweat beading up at his forehead. “Good. Right there.”

Greg thrust again, a bit harder, and Mycroft cried out with pleasure, muffling himself against Greg’s arm. Greg groaned as Mycroft squeezed around him, repeating the motion. “Close,” they said in sync, Greg giving a little laugh as he thrust.

“God, you’re perfect,” Greg grunted, dropping his head to kiss him again, seeking out his lips with a moan. “Want you to come again. I’m not gonna-unhh.” He shuddered, giving one final thrust as Mycroft squeezed around him, coming hard. “Christ.”

Mycroft gasped, arching into him, rutting furiously against his stomach. “Gregory, please.” Greg moaned, pressing his lips to Mycroft’s shoulder as he slid his hand between them, taking his cock and stroking fast.

With another gasp, Mycroft came, trembling as he cried out with pleasure. Greg managed to stroke him through, and then they both all but collapsed on the bed, panting heavily.

“That was…” Greg stirred, shifting his weight off Mycroft for a moment, wetting his lips.

Mycroft blinked open his eyes, focusing on Greg with a blush. “Quite good?”

“More than.” Greg grinned and carefully pulled out, taking the condom off and depositing it in the bin by the bed, then wiping his hands off. He laid down, tugging Mycroft to his side. “You liked that then?”

Mycroft rolled his hips slightly, taking in the stretch and complaints of his muscles. “Yes.” He smiled, looking down the bed, and taking Greg’s hand. “More than.”

Greg chuckled, and squeezed his hand. “I love you. Lay here for a bit, then shower?”

Mycroft nodded, and turned his head, burrowing into Greg’s side. “I love you, too, Gregory. Happy early birthday.”

Greg sighed, eyes drooping shut. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he yawned. “Glad you’re with me for it.” Mycroft smiled, shifting even closer to him as Greg tugged a sheet up. Within moments, they were asleep, curled tightly around each other.


	20. Chapter 20

“Gregory. Gregory Lestrade, wake up.” Greg stirred, mumbling something. Mycroft smiled fondly, and shook him once more. “It’s your birthday,” he murmured, brushing his lips over Greg’s cheek. “Come along. Wake, Gregory.”

Greg opened his eyes with a slow smile, reaching out and tugging Mycroft to his chest. “Mmph...hi. Could get used to waking up next to you. What time is it?”

“Eight thirty in the morning. You have been sleeping for nearly eleven hours.”

Greg groaned, shutting his eyes and rolling away. “Too early. Go back to sleep.”

“I made breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Greg cracked open one eye, looking at him.

“Mm..” Mycroft smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Fresh fruit. Crepes.”

“Crepes?” Greg opened his other eye.

“With honey, or powdered sugar or strawberry jam,” Mycroft smiled. “Are you interested?”

“What about after?” Greg asked, stretching.

“After breakfast? Likely a shower for you.”

“What if there is something else I want?” Greg smirked, reaching out and tugging Mycroft down again, scrambling atop him. “Do my crepes come with kisses?”

Mycroft huffed, hiding his smile. “You’re mussing my hair and robe.”

“Meh. You can sort it out,” Greg grinned and he leaned down, kissing Mycroft deeply.

“Gregory! Morning breath!”

“Mycroft! Good morning!” Greg laughed, kissing his throat instead. “Hey? How are you feeling after last night though? You all right? Not too sore?”

“I’m fine, Gregory. Not sore at all. Rather giddy actually.” Mycroft laughed as he wriggled out from under Greg, his robe opening to reveal flushed skin, and a thickening cock.

“Ooh, can we have first breakfast then?” Greg grinned. “And then second breakfast?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, let me show you.” Greg grinned and flipped them back over, sinking down between Mycroft’s legs. “Trust me. You will like it.”

Mycroft moaned, head dropping back to the pillows. “Oh, I know I will.”

 

**

Greg grinned as the Holmes family finished singing, and blew out the candle on his pie. Violet clapped and swept it away to cut a piece as Greg beckoned Mycroft over for a chaste kiss. “My? Is there a reason the pie crust is shaped like a seashell?” he murmured, glancing over at Violet.

“Fibonacci sequence. If mummy is distracted by her work while she bakes, it tends to make an appearance,” Mycroft replied with a small smile. “There was one week where all we had were scones that she attempted to shape as dodecahedrons. She did not succeed, but they were quite well crafted.”

“Ah...right then.” Greg shrugged and smiled, turning as Sherlock set something down on the table next to him. “What’s this?” he asked, looking over the plain brown box.

“Open it,” Sherlock scowled. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Course not.” Greg chuckled, and peeled off the packing tape. “Oh, Violet. Is this another book?” he asked in surprise, catching the author’s name on the binding.

Violet smiled, setting plates in front of the three boys “Yes. The final print, all edits made, and ready to be sent out to the shops. I know it’s a bit much, publishing another right away, but I’m rather fond of this one, and it’s different than my norm. I’ve been working on it for quite a few years. Open it up dear.”

Greg nodded and took off the protective plastic. “Hey, this isn’t a maths book, is it?”

Violet smiled. “Not exactly dear.”

Greg flipped the book rightside up, reading the title aloud. “The Green Violin. Wait...this is a story book?”

“A little of a story book, a little of a biography, a little of a music book. It’s been ready for years, and just needed a title, and a few tweaks. I decided it was time.” Violet smiled warmly at Siger, sliding a plate in front of him. “It’s a story of two dancers who fall in love.”

Siger smiled back. “With interesting pasts.” He dug into the pie, humming happily as he lifted the fork to his mouth. “And three lovely children.”

“Three?” Greg asked. “Hey! Sherlock! Don’t snatch.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, ignoring him as he opened the book to the dedication page. “See? Not my idea.” He shoved it back at Greg, pointing.

“Oh yes. It certainly was _not_ Sherlock’s idea to give you this as a present instead of letting you just pick up a copy from around the house,” Violet said lightly, hiding a smile as her youngest glared at her.

Greg bit his lip as he read. “You...this is...dedicated to...?”

“You, and the rest of my family,” Violet said quietly. “To three very brave, and very different boys who never stop showing me new ways to look at life, and to a husband who has never let the music leave my life.”

Greg swallowed hard. “Thank you, Violet. I’ll cherish it, really. Will you sign it for me?” he asked, holding out the book.

Violet chuckled. “I took the liberty. It’s already done dear. Now, eat your pie, and we’ll see about the rest of your gifts.”

“There’s more?” Greg asked, setting the book on his lap. “Really?”

“Of course! You didn’t think that we’d let you simply move out and become a police officer without something to remember us by and help you do well, did you?” Siger asked, smiling. “We should eat first though. It’s really quite good. Violet is such a wonderful baker.” He lifted Violet’s hand from his shoulder, kissing her palm.

 

**

Greg idly flipped the pages of his new planner, marking it up with a bright green pen. “And Sherlock’s birthday is….January sixth?”

“Yes.” Mycroft glanced down at him. “Are you planning on getting off the floor anytime soon, Gregory?”

“Nah. I’m having fun. Never had one of these before, think I like it.” Greg grinned at him. “Let’s see. How long till you go back to school?”

“Two and a half weeks. And that’s after delaying a bit of time to finish up my project.”

Greg frowned. “That soon?”

“Yes, Gregory.”

“But you’ve hardly been home any time!”

“I’ve been home nearly all summer.” Mycroft frowned back. “What did you expect would happen?”

“I dunno...that you’d never go back, and let me keep you here for ever and ever? I mean...I take the entrance exam in three days, and if I pass, I’ll start the academy around the time you go back, so I’ll be busy but... I’m still gonna miss you.” Greg shut the planner and sat up, still frowning.

“I will miss you too,” Mycroft said softly. He patted the bed next to him, inviting Greg to climb up. “We’ll write, Gregory. And I’ll phone home. I’m sure you’ll be there or at the shop when I do, and if you aren’t I’ll call again. And I’ll be home on breaks.”

“Well...can I take time and come visit you as well?” Greg asked. “Or would the university frown on that?”

“Damn them if they dare,” Mycroft said lightly. “I’d hardly let them say anything. And I’m staying in a flat on my own. My mother’s from before she moved to the city. Used to teach, you know.”

“Oh.” Greg nodded. “So, I can then?”

“You can.” Mycroft smiled, leaning over to kiss him. “I’d be rather put out if you didn’t.”

“You know, you never told me what you thought of that game I suggested,” Greg grinned. “You know. The professor and the naughty student.”

The corner of Mycroft’s mouth quirked up, and he flushed, wetting his lips. “That would depend on a few bits of the situation.”

“Oh yeah? What?” Greg asked, crowding him back onto the bed.

Mycroft smiled. “Perhaps I’ll tell you. If you make it worth my while.”

“Oh, I certainly can.”

**

Greg picked up his pencil and let out a slow breath. “Begin!” He startled at the instructor’s bark, shredding the taped seal on his exam booklet, and flipping it open. He started to write with a glance at the clock. Two hours, and he would have done all he could.

**

Mycroft was waiting outside the building when Greg walked out, and headed straight for him. “How did it go?” he asked urgently.

Greg smiled. “I dunno. I think I knew most of the answers, most of the open ended stuff. Knew a lot of the laws. We’ll see in a while.” He shrugged. “Can’t do anymore now. So we’ll see.”

Mycroft nodded. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

Greg chuckled. “Hey. Wanna head to the park with me? Jamal’s troupe is putting on the last rehearsals for the show before it starts.”

Mycroft smiled. “That sounds lovely, Gregory.”

**

“So everything is good?” Jamal asked, offering Greg a bottle of soda. “Here. Fizzy drink.”

Greg smiled and tipped the bottle to him. “Thanks. Yeah. Everything is good.”

“And have you two talked about what will happen when he leaves?”

“A little.” Greg sighed. “I know we’ll be fine. I’m just...really, really going to miss him.”

“He will miss you too.” Jamal clapped Greg on the back. “Don’t worry so much. You love each other. Love always finds a way.”

“Says you,” Greg laughed. “Who is it this week?”

Jamal chuckled. “Just because I do not fall in love, does not mean I do not believe in love. There are many, many different kinds of love. You and Mycroft, you have a special kind. A rare kind. Theresa, well, this week, she and I have a very, very, pleasing kind of love. Island love.” He winked, and Greg laughed. “Go. Find Mycroft.”

Greg rolled his eyes, but wandered over to where Mycroft was speaking to the other cellists, and slung an arm over his shoulders. “Hey.”

“Ah. Gregory. I was just speaking about you.” Mycroft smiled. He nodded to the other musicians, and they waved, going back to packing up their instruments.

“Good things I hope.” Greg smiled. “Jamal and the rest are kicking us out. You ready to go?”

“Yes, I believe so. Will you be coming to dinner?”

“Do I look like I’d miss your mum’s roasted potatoes?” Greg snorted. “Hell yeah. C’mon.”

Mycroft chuckled and squeezed his hand quickly as they headed for the bike.


	21. Chapter 21

“Gregory. Might I have a word?”

Greg glanced up from the counter where he was looking over order forms for Siger, tapping his pencil absentmindedly. “Sweetheart.” He grinned. “Course.”

Mycroft smiled, and took the stool behind the counter. “This Saturday, I’d like to go see Jamal’s performance with you. Before I must depart.” 

Greg frowned, and reached over, squeezing his knee. “Of course, My. I’d really like that.”

“I have to do something with Mummy beforehand, so I’ll meet you there. Might be running a little later than the start of the show, so just head in without me, all right?” Mycroft said, giving him a sad smile. “I truly don’t wish to leave you.”

“I know. But you need to finish your schooling,” Greg said with a smile. “We’ll make it work. I’ll be there to see you off at the station, and I love you.”

“And I you, Gregory. I have to go finish packing. Mummy just sent me to figure out where father’s good cardigan has gotten too.”

“That the green one? Cashmere?” Greg pointed with his pencil. “Third shelf on the right, behind the guitar strings. He’s hiding it.”

“Do I want to know why?” Mycroft asked, hopping up to go fetch it. 

“Probably not. He wrote all over it with permanent ink. I think it looks rather nice.” Greg grinned, waving Mycroft out as the other boy rolled his eyes. 

 

**

Greg frowned as the bell clanged in the theatre proper, signaling everyone to their seats. He shrugged, and went in, figuring Mycroft would find him when he got there. The theater wasn’t that big anyway. He grabbed a seat toward the front, but off to the right side a bit, figuring that would make it easier for Mycroft to slip in. 

The musicians had finished their tuning, and started straight in after a short introduction by Jamal. Greg settled back, listening though he kept glancing back for Mycroft. At intermission, he got up and stood at the entrance, waiting with a now concerned frown for Mycroft before going in as the show started up again. 

Jamal was on stage, setting up for the soloist, and he sent Greg a wink. Greg waved back, giving him a thumbs up. Jamal nodded, grinning and disappeared backstage for another moment, only to reappear in costume and stride to the middle of the stage. 

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who identify as neither,” he said cheerfully as people took their seats. “As I’ve said before, my name is Jamal Whyte, and the actors you have seen on stage today belong to my troupe. However, today we will be joined by a very special cellist. Joining us for the solo is visiting performer Mycroft Holmes, London native. He will be performing a song of his own composition, The Art of Ordering Tones. Please, join me in welcoming him.” 

Mycroft strode out, cello in hand, taking a small bow, and then taking his seat as there was a smattering of applause. Greg blinked in shock, grinning wide as Mycroft sat, tuning his cello. To anyone else, he looked calm and collected, but Greg could see the small flush to his skin, the way his eyes scanned the crowd for threats. 

Mycroft’s eyes lit on Greg and he relaxed, giving a small nod as he finishing up. The lights dimmed, and Mycroft drew the bow over the strings of his cello, the audience falling into a hush at the lone, melancholy note. 

Jamal and his partner began to dance, slipping across the stage, ever apart from each other, but Greg kept his eyes on Mycroft, the rise and swell of the music all he could hear, focus on. It was Mycroft’s song, and it was perfect, the chords swirling in the air, clearly drawing emotions that Mycroft normally found hard to express for anyone to see. 

It was lament, and loneliness, and then another swell, something questioning, the tones confused. The music was bewildered, practically escaping Mycroft’s control until something paused, something snapped as the music sped. One of the bow strings actually snapped as Mycroft drew the bow quickly, practically impatient with the whole ordeal and then...he stopped. Greg almost panicked, wondering what had gone wrong, if it was too much for Mycroft, but then he saw it. Mycroft’s hand slowly shifted, drawing the bow across for another slow note. 

Jamal and Theresa had frozen with the music, both on their knees, but as Mycroft began the music again they slowly pivoted to face each other. It started gently, just barely there with the single, long note, disbelief, shock and then..inexplicably, happiness. 

As the music swelled again, Greg realized what it was, why the music’s story was so familiar to him. Mycroft had finally finished his song, and it was their song, their story. The loneliness before they’d met, the anger and questioning Mycroft had had, and then the love. How they’d started to spend time together, how they’d loved each other, how they’d become lovers. 

He was still sitting there, stunned as Mycroft quieted. Jamal and Theresa sank once more to the stage, wrapped in each other’s arms, the lights turning off as the last notes faded out. There was a long pause, as those on the stage caught their breath, and suddenly, a swell of noise, applause so loud that it echoed, bouncing off the stage. Those around him were standing, and Greg slowly stood, clapping too, grinning as widely as he could in Mycroft’s direction before making his way out of his row, slipping backstage. 

Mycroft slammed into him the second he made it back, throwing his arms around him. 

“Mycroft!” Greg whispered urgently, still grinning. “Your song! You finished it! And named it. Listen! They’re still clapping for you sweetheart. Go back out and take a bow!”

Mycroft shook his head. “I already did,” he said, breath hitching. “I just want to hold you now. I cannot believe that I did that.”

“I can,” Greg chuckled. “You’re braver and stronger than you think. Did you tell your parents about this?”

“No. I wanted...to be sure I could do it. And if I didn’t, and I failed, I...only wanted you to see. Because you’d know how hard it was for me to even dream I could do this in front of an audience.”

Greg rubbed his back. “You didn’t fail, My. You were amazing. I think I cried at one point, and I know I wasn’t the only one.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was...honestly, I don’t know how else to describe it besides amazing. Emotional? Stependus? Brilliant?” 

Mycroft laughed. “I love you, Gregory Lestrade.” He hugged him a little tighter. “Let’s go out and watch the rest together. I’m coming to yours tonight,” he said, pulling away and wiping his eyes. 

Greg smiled. “I love you, too. C’mon then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested, follow this link to see the location of the open air theatre, as well as some photos.  
> They have a lot of very nice shows.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the train station, try [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ciWhEOjDH8) song for added emotion. In fact, if you're feeling like rereading the fic again, listen to the whole album. It, and the songs from Adam Hurst I linked earlier, were my dearest companions while I wrote.

“Leaving tomorrow...it will be rather hard for me to do,” Mycroft said quietly as they walked up to the house.

Greg sighed, taking out his keys and unlocking the door. “I know, sweetheart,” he replied once they were in. “It’s gonna be tough. But we’ll make it work.”

Mycroft shut the door and then nodded, wrapping his arms around Greg. “I love you,” he murmured. “And I want to spend tonight with you, in your bed. In your arms.”

“Well. Let’s make it last then,” Greg murmured, dipping his head to kiss Mycroft’s throat.

Mycroft sighed, taking Greg’s hand and leading him to the bedroom.

Greg smiled, and kissed him again leading him back to the bed. “I want you to forget about leaving,” he murmured. “Want you to focus on right now. On me and you, sweetheart. Think you can?”

Mycroft nodded, watching Greg closely as they sank down onto the bed, hands roaming as they undressed each other, slowly, caressing each other.

“I love you,” Mycroft murmured, looping his arms around Greg’s neck, nudging his head up so he could run his lips over the other boy’s throat.

“I love you, too,” Greg said, letting him do as he pleased. “Here.” He rolled them over, settling Mycroft atop his hips. “I’m all yours, Mycroft.” He smiled up, running his hands over the curve of Mycroft’s arse. “All yours, sweetheart.”

Mycroft smiled back down at him, and ran his hands over Greg’s chest. “I know.” He rocked his hips slowly, giving a little groan. “Where’s the-”

Greg chuckled, reached across for the box on his stand, taking out the bottle and smiling. “Here, Mycroft.” Mycroft wriggled his fingers, and Greg squirted a little out for him. Mycroft leaned forward, opening himself with a quiet moan, Greg simply watching in fascination. “Already that used to it?” He smiled.

Mycroft blushed deeply. “I...may have been practicing,” he stammered out.

“Naughty, sweetheart.” Greg grinned. “But very hot.”

Mycroft huffed, doing his best to ignore him as his eyes slide shut with another groan.

Greg smiled, running his hands up and down Mycroft’s thighs, fingers brushing through the downy red hair, thumbs brushing over his cock teasingly.

Mycroft gave a breathy moan, looking down at him, eyes soft. “Feels good, Gregory.”

“Mm. So do you.” Greg grinned. “You gonna ride me, My?”

Mycroft blushed, and nodded. “Yes, Gregory.” He reached out, opening a condom from the box and shifted back. “May I?”

“All yours, love.” Greg grinned at him as Mycroft rolled it on, and then moved back over him, centering himself carefully. Greg gripped his hips gently. “Go on, love.”

Mycroft sank down slowly, rolling his hips, breath hitching.

“That’s it,” Greg breathed out, watching him. “God, you feel good.”

Mycroft let out a small hitching breath. “Gregory. This is...better than...before. You feel bigger.”

“Like it this way?” Greg asked, wetting his lips with a little groan as Mycroft rocked. Mycroft nodded with a shudder, and Greg squeezed his hips. “Good, sweetheart. Take what you want.”

“I want you. Only...only you.” Mycroft swallowed hard, leaning down, and bracing himself on Greg’s chest. “I….don’t want to ever leave this bed. I don’t ever want to leave you.”

“You won’t ever lose me. I _love_ you, Mycroft,” Greg murmured, running his hands over Mycroft’s back, following the curve of his spine. “Sh..It’s okay.”

Mycroft’s breath hitched. “I c..can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. If you need me, you call, and I’ll be there,” Greg soothed. “My. It’s okay. We won’t be that far away.” He rolled them over, pulling out carefully. “Shh, sweetheart. Don’t worry. I’m yours.”

“I’m being ridiculous,” Mycroft said miserably, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not. Trust me, I feel the same way,” Greg said, pulling him close. “I don’t want you to leave either.” He ran a slow hand up and down Mycroft’s side. “C’mon, we’ll just relax for a bit, yeah?” He reached out, turning off the light. “There. Just you and me.”

Mycroft bit his lip, and leaned forward, kissing Greg. “I love you. I still want you tonight. Please don’t stop.”

“Love you too. And you can have me. Just...slow, yeah?” Greg replied, kissing him back. Mycroft nodded, pressing into his touches as Greg made good on his word, slowly shifting them so they were on their sides, face to face, twining their legs together.

Mycroft gave a small almost whine as Greg pushed back in, deliberate and measured, tipping their foreheads together. “Gregory.”

“I know,” Greg whispered. “I’m here. Not gonna go anywhere.”

Mycroft sighed, gazing at him in the near darkness. He brushed their lips together, then closed his eyes, trusting Greg.

Their hands roamed, coaxing their orgasms in a steady, swelling wave as they shared each other’s air, hearts beating quick and steady, a metronome to their movements.

 _“Gregory_ ,” Mycroft finally warned, a strained, breathless cry escaping him. “ _I’m-_ ”

Greg moaned with him as they came, both trembling, shuddering in the grasp of their release. “ _My….._ ”

They relaxed into each other’s arms, panting. “I love you,” Mycroft breathed, kissing him deeply. “I love you, I love you.”

Greg kissed him back, nodding. “I know, sweetheart. I love you too. We’re gonna be all right. I promise.”

“In my heart, I know that.” Mycroft pressed closer, curling against Greg’s chest as he nodded. “But my head would like to think otherwise.”

“That brilliant head of yours is wrong,” Greg said softly. “Had to happen some time.” Mycroft gave a small laugh, breath hitching. Greg just smiled, and rubbed his back, holding him tight.

**

“Well. That’s all your bags.” Greg smiled at Mycroft. “And I’ll see you in a month.”

Mycroft nodded, and extended a hand. “Of course, Gregory.”

Greg shook his hand, sneakily brushing his thumb softly over Mycroft’s knuckles. They’d said proper goodbyes at the house earlier, knowing that they shouldn’t at the station. Knowing that it would be too foolish to do more than hug.

Mycroft gave him a sad smile, and went over to say his goodbyes to his family, hugging Violet and Siger. Sherlock watched him closely, only at the last second grabbing his brother around the waist for a hug. Greg smiled at the scene. Mycroft had cried before they’d left the house, though he’d hidden it from Greg. Greg knew though, and he made sure to tuck an envelope into the pocket of the jacket Mycroft had hanging on his suitcase. It wasn’t anything special, but a sketch of them both Greg had drawn, an actual picture that someone had taken of Mycroft on stage at Regent’s that Greg had snagged from one of the troupe. A letter, reiterating the promises Greg had made Saturday night. And there was a cassette tape, and a letter explaining how, when Mycroft had played the song a second time for his family, Greg had recorded it. Played it back late Sunday night as Mycroft slept, playing his guitar in tandem with the stereo. He’d made a copy of the recording, that song Siger had had him learning finally making sense. It was a companion piece for something not yet written. Or something that hadn’t been when Greg had first learned it.

He planned on taking his guitar up the very next weekend to visit Mycroft for his birthday, planning on playing the song with him. Siger and Violet were in on the scheme, letting Greg borrow the tape recorder as long as he liked, and Greg knew that he could count on them to keep the trip a secret. But until then, he had to keep the secret himself.

“Gregory? The train is leaving soon.”

Greg stirred from his thoughts, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Mycroft lifted his bag and jacket, and smiled at him. “A month then.” He bit his lip. “I’ll see you. You do promise, don’t you?”

“You’ll see me. I promise.”

Mycroft nodded, and stepped away. “Goodbye, Gregory.”

Greg watched him enter the train, taking a window seat. “My?” he called suddenly, seeing the glass was open.

“Yes?” Mycroft turned, leaning out the window slightly.

Greg grinned, and ran forward, tugging him just a bit farther down and damning any consequences. “I love you, sweetheart. And I’m counting the minutes.” He pressed their lips together in a deep kiss, and for just a second as the train whistle blew, and the station bell rang, he could hear it. The music. Their song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I cannot believe this is over. Twenty-two chapters in twenty days. Got a bit cheesy at the end there, but I like it. Thanks to everyone who followed along, commented and cheered me on, or, if you're just finishing up after a ~37k fanfic binge, thanks for joining! Please, feel free to follow me on tumblr, or subscribe to the series to be the first to know when chapters or material related to this fic is released! I can be found [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, and the series can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/series/552403) on AO3.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me [here](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Any notification of errors are accepted with gratefulness that knows no bounds.  
> Kudos, comments, and your happy (pained) flailing are accepted with glee. I hope you enjoyed!  
> 


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